


undisclosed desires

by ivan



Series: your love was handmade for somebody like me [2]
Category: Batman: The Telltale Series (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, BDSM, F/M, Mutual Pining, and oswald became the second ceo of wayne ent through the power of BLACKMAIL, au where lady arkham never happened, tease and denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-16
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2019-03-05 16:56:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 40,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13392174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivan/pseuds/ivan
Summary: au where charlie comes to gotham specifically to try bdsm out; and fish mooney hooks her up with just the right partner.





	1. Chapter 1

Gotham had a reputation of a place where everyone gets a second chance and a fresh start - and those two things were something Charlie desperately needed. Last person she fell in love with turned out to be a con artist - so long story short, she was heartbroken. Her hometown - New York - was completely ruined for her; it seemed like it might be high time for her to finally leave the nest.

Gotham also had something else that interested her - a blossoming bdsm scene. She was curious about the topic for quite some time now; she found herself fantasizing about trying it out more and more often - but New York wasn’t a good place. Her family was well-known; and she couldn’t bear the thought of other people finding out about that part of her. She wasn’t quite comfortable with it yet - and in more elite social circles, words travel fast. Her parents and herself were well-known and very likeable - meaning they were also very easy to hate.

But in Gotham - the name _Schiller-Aberdeen_ was mostly a tabula rasa. So after moving there - she bought a nice, modern flat, fitting a single woman in her late twenties - she got to researching.

It seemed like the more esteemed, technically and legally impeccable, safe part of the scene was centered around one place in particular - a club ran by one Fish Mooney, a gorgeous woman in her forties, with a cocky smile and dangerously sharp fingernails. Fish was considered a guru of sorts; and she seemed to be deeply invested in the well-being of bdsm newbies. She was offering courses - both practical and theoretical - as well as a support hotline - but what interested Charlie the most was the matchmaking system of the Iceberg, Fish’s club. Fish was well aware of the fact she’s not everyone’s cup of tea; so she was very eager to help willing newcomers out by getting them in touch with someone who _is_ their cup of tea.

So - after a nervous stroll through the park, a long battle with her thoughts, some nail-biting and taking some deep breaths - Charlie booked an appointment, at the soonest date possible. It was a now or never feeling of sorts; she was starting a life of her own in a new place. She felt like taking a deep dive - and she decided to take advantage of this feeling for as long as possible.

***

“So, Charlie.”

They were both sitting in Fish Mooney’s office at the back of the Iceberg; it was middle of the day and the local was nearly empty, except for them and a few members of the cleaning staff, preparing the building for the night.

The office was spacious and well-lit; the dominating color was black.

“Exactly how much of a newbie _are_ you?”

Fish was looking at her expectantly, and Charlie anxiously twitched in her chair.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m asking about your sexual experience in general. Sex is more complex than many people think it is.” Fish said, cocking her head. “And the knowledge of how to navigate other person’s body, how to be sensitive, how to read their needs… It doesn’t come by itself.”

“Oh! Well, I _do_ have some experience.” Charlie said, feeling a bit flustered. “Are there people who _start_ their sex life with bdsm?”

“You’d be surprised.” Fish sighed. “But, back to you. Do you know your own body well enough to tell the other person how to treat it?”

“Assuming they want to listen, yeah.”

“And… You have _no_ experience in the field whatsoever?”

“A girl once choked me.” she said with a shrug. “And it was nice, but she went too hard and bruised me. And that’s pretty much it.”

“Mmm.” Fish muttered, writing something down. “Tell me about your preferences. Let’s start with… Gender.”

“I don’t think I have a preference. Happened with guys, happened with girls, I’m also pretty sure it happened with someone who was neither.”

“Alright. Which… _Side_ interests you the most? And be honest.” Fish added, sparks of amusement glimmering in her intelligent eyes. “There’s no shame in admitting to that. You’d be surprised how many arrangements didn’t work out because someone wasn’t entirely honest.”

“The submissive one.” Charlie replied with a sigh. “I know it’s cliche, but-”

“It’s _your_ sexuality.” Fish interrupted her. “So simply embrace it and don’t worry about cliches or originality or whatever. Everything’s fine… As long as you’re happy.”

“Isn’t it expected from women to be submissive though?”

“Of course it is. But what _isn’t_ expected… Is for us to make a conscious, informed decision about it and to turn it into a source of pleasure. Do you want me to recommend you some reading on the topic?”

“Actually yeah, that’d be nice.”

“And it can be arranged. Any preferences regarding the looks of your partner?”

Charlie pulled out a photo taken one year earlier; it depicted her would-be husband, along with her parents.

“I don’t want them to be similar to anyone in this picture.” she said firmly. “Or to Donald Trump.”

“Well, it sure is good that all of my friends look like actual people, rather than sentient cheese puffs. Alright, so to sum it up - you want to try your luck as a sub, you know your body well enough to be able to establish your own limits and you don’t particularly need a Jake Gyllenhaal look-alike. I’m going to find you someone patient.” Fish added before Charlie said anything. “And versatile. A sexual chameleon.”

“That sounds like a really kickass wrestler name.”

“Would _you_ fight someone who goes by the name _sexual chameleon_?”

“Yes! And I’d go by the name _asexual boomslang_. You know. To sow some fear into their heart.”

“Oh goodness, a penchant for animal metaphors! I think I have just the right person for you…”

***

Fish reached out to her about a week later, to inform her she found her a suitable partner to help her decide if this _is_ the stuff for her.

“I can arrange a blind date for you.” she said cheerfully. “He likes to take this sort of things slow. See if there’s a spark between you two, see if one thing leads to another… He’s _remarkably_ patient. I think you’ll like him.”

“And what if I don’t?”

“We’ll cross this bridge once we get to it, love. He has a lot of free time on his hands.” Fish added. “So the date’s… Up to you.”

“Well, I too happen to have a _lot_ of free time. Would tomorrow work? Or will I come off as desperate?”

“You will, which is probably a good thing. _Desperate’s_ one of his favorite words.”

“Oh my.” Charlie said, laughing nervously. “Alright, I’ll bite.”

“That’s also good. He likes people that bite.”

“...he’s not a cannibal, is he?”

“No, that’d be Waylon Jones. _He’s_ the cannibal one… Which is precisely how he got a lifetime ban in the Iceberg.”

“What-”

“I’ll set you up in a nice bar uptown.” Fish interrupted her as if they weren’t just having a casual discussion about sexual cannibalism. “Nice place, quiet. The bartender’s a master of his craft. Wear something nice. I’ll make _him_ dress up nicely.”

“Can you at least tell me his name? Or… What he looks like?”

“He’s a handsome devil, I can tell you that much.”

 _A handsome devil_ could mean many things, and Fish’s definition of _handsome_ could be drastically different from Charlie’s; but Charlie decided to take that risk.

So when the date night came she put on one of her favorite dresses - a pencil, dark blue one, with sheer lace neckline - and did her usual makeup and went to the bar, hoping for the best.

Peperoncino was a nice place - high class, expensive, tastefully decorated. It wasn’t exactly crowded, since it was a weeknight; a man was sitting at a leather bar stool, discussing something with the bartender.

“I think your date’s here.” the bartender said eventually, after noticing Charlie standing awkwardly in the doorway. “Hey, miss! Did Fish Mooney send you?”

Some heads turned in her direction, as she was walking towards the bar.

“She did.”

That got a reaction out of the man the bartender was talking to; he turned around to face her and oh _my god Fish wasn’t joking when she called him a handsome devil._

He quietly got up from his stool, and she forced herself to make her eyes _not_ wander. He had a very handsome, sharp face; and his smart suit stood in beautiful contrast with his scar and stubble and dishevelled hair. He was tall and slim; and he had beautiful, slender fingers, which she noticed when he took her hand and bowed his head, brushing the back of her hand with his narrow lips.

“It’s nice to meet you.” she said nervously and he smiled. “I’m-”

“Charlie.” he interrupted her; he had a pleasant voice, slightly breathy, slightly raspy. “I know. Fish told me.”

“She never told me _your_ name though.”

“She didn’t? Oh, that foul woman.” he said tenderly. “I’m Oswald. _Oz_ for friends, _pretty boy_ for Fish Mooney, _piece of shit Cobblepot_ for… Everyone else, I’d say.”

“Well, I think I’m going to stick to Oz.” she said with a smile, nearly melting under his piercing eyes; she wondered if he _knows_.

He helped her sit on the high stool, and his touch almost _burned_.

“So, what do you drink?”

“You seem to be a regular here. What can you recommend me?”

“Mmm.” he muttered, looking at her attentively. “Let’s see… How does a strawberries-and-cream daiquiri sound?”

“Like I’m going to be drunk in about two hours.” she replied; and he winked at her.

Their drinks of choice contrasted sharply; a sweet, ostentatious mixture for her, and a plain whiskey on the rocks for him.

“So.” he said after a brief silence, after she took the first sip of her drink and decided _this_ is the one thing she wants to be drinking till the end of her life. “I’m a perfect, proper gentleman. Ladies first. Tell me something about yourself.”

“Hmm.” she said absentmindedly. “I don’t know how much you _already_ know.”

“Not much.” he admitted. “Fish made sure I act decent and don’t run a thorough background check on you as soon as I agree to anything. So… I didn’t.”

“Oh.” she said, slightly taken aback. “So… You have the _means_ of doing something like this?”

“I do.” he said nonchalantly. “It’s a nasty habit of mine, but I’m working on it. Turns out people don’t like being spied on. But, I can’t help but wonder… What would I find if I _did_ run that check on you?”

She cocked her head slightly; he was a peculiar man - but at least he was honest about it.

“Not much.” she eventually said. “I’m a good girl, from a good house. I’m an only child, I was a straight-A student… And I got engaged to a thief and a liar. I guess it doesn’t say anything good about my intelligence, does it?”

“Just because you were outsmarted by someone doesn’t mean you’re not clever yourself. Smart people get outsmarted all the time. It simply means their opponent was better. Doesn’t make them any less formidable.”

“Thank you.” she said softly. “So, what’s _your_ story? I see a suit… But I also see that scar on your face.”

“What if I told you _I’m_ a liar and a thief?” he asked with a cocky smile. “I’m a man of many talents, and I had my fair share of fights. Now… I’m on top. Also I like nice suits. I heard I look good in suits. Do I?”

“Yes.” she responded before stopping herself.

He smiled again and she melted into a puddle.

Neither of them as much as mentioned the _real_ reason behind their meeting; but she felt like there’s some chemistry between them. She not only could _see_ herself with him - she _wanted_ it. She felt like this man, this Oswald in a suit, with a scar running across the bridge of his nose - might be just the right person to help her indulge her slightly repressed fantasies and wants. He was polite, and a bit snarky, and she very quickly found herself desperately mesmerized with his hands and lips.

And he looked at her a certain way too - his eyes wandered a lot and he often looked at her lips.

(At one point he gently brushed her bottom lip with his thumb, to get rid of something that was allegedly there; she didn’t say anything, but she could hear the bartender scoffing in the background.)

“It’s getting late.” Oswald eventually said. “And I think Jacques is about to kick us out.”

“I am.” the bartender chimed in. “Tell Fish to pick another place for your mating rituals.”

“No.” Oswald said politely, getting up, and helping Charlie up as well; he brushed the back of her hand with his thumb and she looked away with a faint smile.

“I live few blocks away. I could invite you up for coffee.” she said as they were leaving.

“This sounds interesting.” he agreed, fishing car keys out of his pocket. “Lead the way.”

They talked a bit on their way to her flat; and she felt like _maybe_ she had one deceively sweet drink too many. Her thoughts were just a bit blurry and fuzzy and her words were just a bit jumbled up; but at least it made her feel good. Sort of courageous enough, actually - courageous enough to straight up admit to being into him as they were leaving his car.

“You’re so infuriatingly handsome.” she sighed theatrically as he was helping her out. “But you know what I’d _love_ to see?”

“Do tell.” he said, sounding amused. “But maybe keep your voice down. There are people watching.”

“Come closer, I’ll whisper it.”

He lowered his head, and she absentmindedly noticed he smells very nice.

“I’d _love_ to see your face between my thighs, you know.” she whispered, giggling quietly.

“This _could_ be arranged.” he replied calmly, slowly - almost hesitantly - wrapping his arm around her waist. “Come on now. Lead the way.”

“You smell _really_ good.” she muttered as they were crossing the hall. “Hey, Oswald?”

“Yes?”

She looked at his sharp profile and she forgot about what did she want to say.

“Which floor?” Oswald asked after they entered the elevator; Charlie squinted, looking at the buttons.

“Tenth.” she said eventually; she nearly pressed a wrong button, but he took her hand and moved it to the right one.

“You have strong hands.” she muttered, resting her head against his shoulder. “What are you doing for a living again?”

“I lie and I steal. Sometimes I punch people.”

“So you’re a bad boy in a nice suit. That’s hot, you know.”

“I’m well aware, yes. Keep talking though. I like hearing about the effect I have on lovely creatures like you.”

“It’s your time to talk though. Wait, did you just say I’m lovely?”

“That’s because you are. Do you want me to shower you in compliments?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then I’ll do it… Once you’re sober.”

“You’re a sweet talker.” she muttered with a yawn; the elevator dinged quietly, stopping at her floor. “You lie for a living. Are you lying right now?”

“I have a way with words.” he said, gently pushing her out of the elevator; she liked the sensation of his hands on her hips. “Which, coincidentally, includes things that are _true_.”

“Oh, my.” she said playfully, fishing her keys out of her purse. “Do you think I’m pretty then?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

“And… Aren’t you curious as to how do I look _without_ clothes on? Because I wonder… If this thing on your face is your _only_ scar.”

She finally opened the door and came inside; he followed her quietly, closing the door behind them.

“So, what now?” she asked, taking her shoes off. “Are you going to kiss me?”

He walked up to her and for a moment she was _sure_ he’s going to kiss her; he leaned in and gently raised her chin and she could feel his breath on her skin and her lips were _tingling_ , that’s just how badly she wanted him to kiss her-

“Not tonight.” he said quietly. “You’re drunk.”

“What? No!” she protested. “I’m _tipsy_!”

“Same difference.” he stated, putting his hands on her shoulders and turning her around. “You’re buzzed. Go to sleep, I’m not going anywhere. I mean, I am.” he corrected himself. “But I’ll leave you my number… So you can try and get what you so desperately want.”

“I meant everything I said, you know.”

“I’m well aware. Booze’s the greatest truth serum of them all.” he said, sounding amused. “Call me once you sober up.”

And just like that, he was gone - and she was left with a pleasantly warm, fuzzy feeling in her stomach. Oswald Cobblepot - whoever he was, and whatever he was doing for a living - was a delight of sorts; she liked him, very much.

He left his number pinned to her fridge with a magnet; his handwriting was a bit messy and wobbly, but at least it was legible. He even drew a kissy face underneath - it was cute; and for a brief moment she forgot their quickly budding affair is meant to be a casual, learning experience.

***

She woke up with a sickening hangover - nothing strong enough to make her curl up and want to die, but definitely strong enough to make talking the last thing she wanted. The deliciously sweet, massive drinks Jacques made her were way stronger than they looked - and she kept forgetting that all in all, girly, colorful drinks _are_ still a mixture of strong alcohols. She kept making this mistake over and over again; but this time she really, genuinely wasn’t expecting _vodka_ in _whipped cream_.

Fish called her in a late afternoon, as Charlie was curing her migraine.

“So, how did it go?”

“God, he’s hot.” Charlie sighed, absolutely not in shape for being subtle. “What now though? I’m not sure how to _mention_ this whole… Bdsm thing. Should I text him? _Last night was nice and I like you, now let’s talk about-_ ”

“Can I ask you a scientific question?” Fish interrupted her, and Charlie smiled faintly. “For the sake of research.”

“Sure.”

“Would you go out with him second time if he wasn’t meant to give you a few lessons?”

“I think I would.” she replied almost instantly. “I… Like him. He’s kind of weird, with this whole surveillance and background checks thing, but… At least he admitted to it. So that’s a plus.”

“He admitted to it? Oh, Oswald.” Fish sighed. “But yes, he has his charm. And as for your original question… I’ll let you in on a little secret of Oswald’s MO.”

“I’m all ears.”

“He’s a fucking perfectionist… Pun intended.” Fish added as Charlie laughed quietly. “It’s complicated, but he wants thing to be _impeccable_. So before he gets down to business… He likes to take some time to get to know the other person. He learned that as a boxer.”

“Wait, he’s a boxer?”

“Used to. From what I’ve heard, he’s still a formidable opponent - quick like lightning, methodical, relentless. He’s a man of many, _many_ talents… And he knows just how to use them in various areas of life. If I were to guess - he’s now going to take his sweet time getting to know you. And all your sweet spots. In boxing, he’d do it to know where to hit to make it _hurt -_ you can probably guess why he does it now.”

“Is he paying you to say that?”

“He pays me in sweet words.” Fish said with a chuckle. “I like this boy, sweetheart. He went through shit and I like to see him flourish. Even if it includes talking about his sexual prowess to strangers.”

“That’s why I signed up for your matchmaking assistance, after all.”

“It was a good decision. Good luck though - Oswald’s an absolute _delight_ on his good days, but on _bad_ days… Well.”

“Everyone’s insufferable on their bad days. I’m sure there’s nothing he can surprise me with.”

***

She invited him over for dinner; and he accepted, only warning her that he will not, under any circumstances, eat raw fish or unseasoned avocado - but he was fine with everything else, as long as it was still _technically_ food. He was a self-proclaimed omnivore - and Charlie nodded, remembering what Fish mentioned about his rather rough and tough past. Beggars can’t be choosers, and so on; and she was getting more and more curious about him as a person. He had a complicated past, and seemed to have open access to all sorts of information; but she decided to not let her curiosity take the better of her. She was sure she’ll find out about everything important in due time; and it’s not like he was the mayor or Bruce Wayne. Maybe he simply was an adoptive son of a local millionnaire.

It could wait - she had more important matters on her hands, such as the dinner. She was determined to at the very least get the kiss he denied her last time; she felt _alive_ once again. Wanting someone again - it was a glorious feeling, and she missed it more than she realized.

He showed up on time, with a bottle of pink wine.

“Oh my.” she sighed jokingly, taking it from him. “Trying to get me drunk again?”

“Name of the brand reminded me of you.” he said lightly, taking his coat off. “ _Make me blush._ ”

“Oh!” she said, feeling a blush creeping out on her cheeks. “That’s… Very thoughtful.”

That evening, they finally talked about what brought them together in the first place - the arrangement. It took them quite some time to get there, and from a certain point she was on pins and needles; in a good way. She was _very_ much into him - and the fact it was just the two of them filled her with hopeful excitement.

(She wondered if he noticed she’s not wearing a bra.)

“So.” he said, picking up a small, ripe raspberry, gently rolling it between his fingers. “Cards on the table, Charlie. What exactly are you expecting from me? Fish told me.” he added, before she said anything. “But I want to hear it from you.”

“Is that a test?” she asked, despite already knowing the answer; he nodded.

“You could say that.” he admitted with a playful smirk. “So. Go on, love.”

“I’ve been curious about those things for a while now.” she finally admitted. “I think it started back in college. I borrowed _The Story of O_ from my friend…”

“God, that book is awful.”

“It is.” she sighed. “It was boring and unrealistic, but… I _really_ liked parts just about being tied up. And then I started digging, and I decided - this _might_ be stuff for me. But I only really had my imagination.” she added, feeling slightly embarrassed. “My ex… We didn’t really have a sex life. I thought he’s one of those _wait ‘till the wedding night_ guys, but that was not it. I just… Wasn’t his type. At _all_.”

Oswald nodded silently, still toying with the raspberry; and Charlie absentmindedly noted he probably has perfect control over his touch, considering the delicate fruit wasn’t even a bit squished.

“But that’s a story for another time.” she added eventually. “All that matters is that… I never tried it out even _remotely._ ”

“That’s not _all_ that matters.” Oswald protested, surprisingly softly. “Someone violated your trust. And what you want to experience… Is all about trust.”

She looked away for a moment.

“That’d be correct, yes.” she eventually admitted. “I guess you could say that after what happened… I have something akin to trust issues.”

“That makes two of us.” he said nonchalantly. “I trust easily. And my guess is… You’re not _allowing_ yourself to trust anyone.”

“Are you a therapist?”

“I’m _friends_ with a therapist.” he said lightly. “I’m also a remarkably clever man, who reads people like open books. Years of practice.”

“I’d love to _not_ have this issue, you know.” she suddenly said. “I’d love for it to go the hell away.”

“Believe it or not, but what you want… Might help.” Oswald said calmly. “Dominance and submission is a good trust exercise. Once you allow someone to take control away from you… Trust is the only thing that’s left.”

“But shouldn’t I be trusting someone in the first place to let them take over?”

“Yes, but it doesn’t have to be the deep kind of trust. It can be light and casual… And you already trust me like this.” he added. “You trust me enough to let me take you home when you were tipsy, and you trust me enough to be alone with me, even though you’re probably well aware of the fact you wouldn’t stand a chance against me. Don’t worry though.” he added with a reassuring smile. “My morals might be loose and questionable… But not like _that_.”

“You’re right though. I _do_ trust you.” she admitted. “Same way I trust Fish’s judgement. It all goes back to her.”

“I can try to help you out.” he finally said. “But first… I need to learn a few things about you. Some… Practical things.”

“Like what?” she asked, her heart pounding; he winked at her.

“Like how do you want to be touched, so I can make you regret ever telling me that.”

“Shouldn’t we do the paperwork first?” she asked, deciding to prolong the prelude a bit. “A NDA, a contract…”

“Well, we could.” he agreed lazily. “List me your limits then.”

“I… Don’t know what my limits are.”

“Which is precisely why I like to take some time before making anyone sign anything. First we need to figure each other out. Then… We’ll see.”

“So, what happens now?” she asked after a brief pause; he stared at her without a word, with a puzzling smile painted on his face, still gently rolling the raspberry between his fingers.

“I don’t know.” he said nonchalantly. “To be honest I was hoping you’d tell me to stay the night. Or… That you’d repeat some of those things you told me last time.”

“I’m still waiting for you to shower me in compliments.” she fired back, feeling pleasantly flustered. “Come on. We’re in private.”

“You have gorgeous eyes.” he said calmly. “And perfectly soft lips. Also I know you’re not wearing a bra. It’s been driving me crazy for a good couple hours now, because in this light… I can see everything. And it’s the most lovely sight.” he added. “You’re a beautiful tease.”

“Stay the night, Oz.” she said softly.

“With pleasure.”

He kissed her shortly after; it was a gentle, teasing kiss, one that stopped as soon as she pulled him closer.

“Kiss me again.”

“You’re very impatient.” he said quietly. “We should work on that.”

He was playfully, teasingly careful and gentle, and it drove her nuts - but it was also intoxicating, the way he toyed with her. He asked her to show him what she likes, and she did - and he used it against her.

“I figured you out.” he whispered to her.

“Yeah?” she replied feverishly; it was hard to focus on anything, with the way he was kissing her neck.

“Oh yeah.”

***

They ended up signing a contract - but first they had to write it, which meant she had to figure out and disclose her limits and expectations to him _and_ his lawyer.

“Let’s start with things that are a _yes_.” Oswald suggested; about two weeks had passed since their dinner. They met up a few more times; she was finding herself more and more attracted to him, not only in a sexual way. He was a pleasant company, very charming and attentive; being around him felt nice, even if she technically still didn’t know a lot about him. She knew he’s well-versed in literature and opera and French cuisine - but she had no idea where did his money come from. She knew he has a soft spot for dogs - but she never heard him mention friends or family.

But she was fine with it. Not every relationship was meant to be deep.

“Alright, let’s start with the good stuff.” she agreed; they were sitting on the floor of her living room, with his laptop set up on a coffee table.

“Then we can figure out things that are a _yes, but only if_.” he continued, quickly making a neat table in a text editor. “Then _mmmaybe,_ and then…”

“ _No._ ”

“You’re a quick learner.” he muttered, titling the columns. “So, you had a few days to do some googling. Found anything interesting?”

“I found out there is nearly zero good porn.” she said with a shrug, and he laughed.

“Yeah, that’s why so many people resort to actually _doing_ stuff.”

“Also I want to try out some bondage.” she added, and he grinned. “Just… Within reason.”

“What do you mean?”

“Suspension creeps me out. And… That position that goes like this.” she said, demonstrating what she meant; she raised her arms behind her back, until it forced her to bend down. Oswald nodded.

“Strappado.” he said, adding _strappado_ and _suspension_ to the _no_ column. “Also you’re in luck. I don’t do suspension… And I tend to be vary of techniques that started as _actual_ torture methods. I have very plastic imagination.” he added, seeing her face. “And nothing kills a boner as fast as some unfortunate associations.”

“And why don’t you do suspensions?”

“They require fancy equipment. And when I first started out… I only had access to the most basic stuff. So it’s all a matter of habit.”

“I wonder how many people died in accidents.”

“More than the community wants to admit, less than the outsiders would think. So, bondage is a yes. What else?”

“Denial seems fun. I sometimes edge myself.” she confessed and he snickered. “What’s so funny?”

“I like it when people ask me for things they want from me.” he said with a wink. “There’s luck in leisure, little by little does the trick… And so on. And I already know you like teasing.”

“Yes, I do.” she said, trying to sound dignified. “By all means possible.”

“Oh, you’re going to regret admitting to _that_. What about… Clamps?”

“Only the soft kind.” she said hesitantly. “I’m a wimp.”

“No, you’re sensitive.” he protested, typing it out. “And what about…”

They went on like this for a couple of hours - but eventually they managed to get it done.

“Fantastic.” Oswald stated with satisfaction. “Now the non-disclosure agreement.”

“Is it a norm?” she suddenly asked. “The NDA, I mean. It just seems… Odd, having an NDA in relation to sex life.”

“I’m a public person, love. I have a reputation I worked _very_ hard for. Plus… I value my privacy.” he added with a shrug. “For a long time, privacy was the only thing I had. Privacy and lots and lots of anger.”

“So what you’re saying is that if I googled your name… Lots of stuff would pop up.”

“In a way, yeah.” he said with amusement. “I’m surprised you hadn’t tried it yet.”

“There’s time for everything.” she stated, signing copies of the NDA and the contract itself. “So, what happens now?”

“What happens now is that I’m going to call my friend and tell him to get us a reservation at Lafontaine’s for tonight.” he stated, reaching for his phone. “This calls for a celebration, after all.”

“And… What happens _after_ we have our disproportionately expensive dinner, consisting mostly, if not entirely, of the tiniest possible portions of dishes with unspeakable names served on ridiculously giant plates?”

“That was a question of truly impressive length.” Oswald snickered quietly. “Save your breath, love. You’re going to need it tonight.”

“That sounds promising. Tell me more.”

“And ruin the surprise?” he retorted with a wink. “No, I don’t think so. No worries though. I’m not going to violate the contract. Now excuse me.” he added, getting up. “I have to make a call. You _do_ have an evening gown, right?”

“Of course I do!” she scoffed as he left the room, already calling someone.

Moments later she heard him arguing with someone over the phone. Someone wasn’t being cooperative - and Oswald was having none of it.

“No, no, dearheart, _you_ don’t understand.” he said and she listened, absentmindedly re-reading the papers they just signed. “You _don’t_ get to say _no_ to me. If I tell you to jump - you ask me _how high_. If I tell you to make me a bloody reservation for two at Lafontaine’s - you ask me if I want a smoking or a non-smoking table. So, Brucie, old boy, let’s try that again. One more chance, for the sake of old times. Oh!” he added after a brief pause. “That’s _much_ better. It’ll be a non-smoking table, thank you. Oh, and one more thing.” he added in a much darker tone. “Do try to remember about our arrangement next time I call to ask you for a favor. Because, old pal, believe me when I say it… I’d absolutely _hate_ to have to hand miss Vale the missing pieces. I’d break my heart, but… Necessity can’t be helped, now can it?”

He came back to her living room moments later, seemingly as chipper as he was before the call.

“That sounded dramatic.” she said without looking up from the papers.

“A certain person likes to forget about his massive debt.” he said, rolling his eyes. “But it’s all good now. We have the reservation… Which is all that matters.”

“Mmm.” she muttered, putting the documents down and looking at him. “So _what_ are you doing for a living? You admitted to lying and stealing… You’re not a criminal, are you?”

“Me? A criminal?” Oswald scoffed. “Please. No, no, nothing like that. I’m a businessman, nothing more and nothing less.”

“Please tell me you’re a better dom than Christian Grey.”

“I sure as hell am more _charismatic_.” he snickered. “Don’t worry about it, I’m _way_ better. I’ll be going now.” he added, picking up his copies of the documents. “I’ll pick you up around six.”

“Do you always take new subs out for dinner?”

“Let me have my secrets, Charlie. I’ll tell you another delicious fact though. That was _not_ a first time I used my leverage against Bruce Wayne to make him my unwilling servant.”

“Wait, _the_ Bruce Wayne? The face of Gotham? Gotham’s most eligible bachelor?”

“One and only.” he said nonchalantly, fixing his tie. “See you tonight.”

He left before she collected her jaw from the floor.

 _That_ was definitely a shocker - knowing that Oswald somehow has _Bruce Wayne_ in his pocket. She absentmindedly remembered what Fish told her - about Oswald being absolutely _unbearable_ during his bad days. He just threatened Wayne’s good reputation, just for the sake of getting a restaurant reservation; and she saw his body and his scars. He was a puzzling man, and definitely a dangerous one - and it was _exciting_.

He showed up shortly before six, when she was still getting ready.

“You’re early.” she scoffed, letting him in; she was in her underwear and it felt funny, only wearing lingerie while he was fully dressed up.

“I was hoping to surprise you - and look! I was right.” he snickered, closing the door. “I also brought you something.”

“Oh?” she said, sitting down in front of a mirror, to put on her makeup. “Should I be… Afraid?”

“Around me? You should be _petrified_.” he said with a squinty-eyed smirk that never failed to send a pleasant shiver down her spine. “Not this time though.”

He handed her a small box; inside was a simple, tear-shaped pendant with a deep blue jewel, encased in silver.

“I have matching cufflinks.” Oswald stated when after she looked at him. “Also it’s pretty. Like you.”

“Oh, you smooth talker.” she said mockingly, despite suddenly feeling very slushy and mawkish. “What if I _don’t_ wear it?”

“I’ll have to punish you.” he said with a wink and she stopped breathing for a moment. “Come on now. Get dressed.”

“How should I call you?” she asked after putting her dress on; she reached for the necklace he gave her - but it wasn’t where she put it.

“By my name, preferably.” he replied. “Did you lose something?”

She turned around to ask him if he saw her put the trinket down elsewhere - but the spark in his slightly squinted eyes and a shadow of a smile hidden in the corners of his narrow lips told her everything she needed to know.

“No.” she replied, walking past him; he gently brushed her hip with his fingertips.

He helped her get into his car, glancing at her bare neck briefly.

It was a pleasant evening - and it felt just like an actual date, with no _almost_ anywhere to be seen. Oswald was chatty and witty and reminded her of a knife; and she could imagine herself developing feelings for him, actual, romantic feelings.

But that was not going to happen - they were a very committed, casual thing, nothing more and nothing less. He didn’t feel the need to disclose any actual details of his personal life to her, and she felt comfortable with his lack of knowledge about hers. Vague ideas were all they needed; she was more than just fine with trusting someone who only knew the most basic stuff about her.

(Harry knew _everything_ about her.)

“You have _very_ beautiful wrists.” Oswald mused; and Charlie was sure that people sitting nearby are eavesdropping on them. “Maybe we should think about getting you some suitable bracelets.”

He gently brushed the back of her right wrist with his fingertips.

“Maybe an entire set.” she said lightly. “Something for my wrists, something for my ankles, something for my neck…”

“Something for the _entirety_ of you.” he snickered. “Yes, I like that.”

A waitress approached them to ask if they want dessert - and Oswald declined, which was surprising, considering he not only had a sweet tooth, but also an affinity for coconut biscottis, a pastry Lafontaine’s was famous for.

“Should I be worried?” she asked after informing the young woman she’ll have a forest fruit mousse with honey and vanilla. “Are you sick?”

“I’m merely trying to avoid diabetes.” he replied, squinting slightly. “I have you, _and_ you’re going to stay the night… Skipping the dessert’s only fair.”

Her face turned very red very briefly.

“We’re in _public_!” she muttered, to which he laughed.

When the waitress brought her her mousse, Oswald promptly stole the biggest, ripest blackberry from the top - as well as a nearly unnaturally red, lush wild strawberry.

“Oh, this is _divine._ ” she sighed, tasting the dessert. “I wonder what kind of honey are they using.”

“Sourwood.” he replied, rolling the tiny strawberry between his fingertips.

“How do you know?”

“From the slightly caramelized note at the very end of every spoonful. Also because I once asked.” he added, seeing her impressed gaze. “The owner’s not too eager to tell secrets of the trade… But I found a way to squeeze some honey out of him.”

“I have one more question.”

“You can ask me everything you want.” he said with amusement. “Whether you get an answer or not is a whole different topic… But you don’t need my permission to _ask_. That’s not how it works.”

“You like listening to the sound of your own voice, don’t you?”

“Who doesn’t?” he said with an amused shrug. “I’m an absolute _delight_ to listen to.”

“You’re so vain it’s almost a miracle no one had tried strangling you.”

“That’s because I never gave anyone _occasion_ to try. What did you want to know?”

“What’s up with you and fruits?” she asked, pointing at the wild strawberry with her spoon. “You play with them every time you see them. Why?”

“I was sure it’s obvious.” he replied, shooting her a puzzling look.

He took a small bite, not taking his eyes off her.

“Figure it out.” he eventually said.

“Is that… An _order_?”

“Yes.” he said, sounding very serious. “But it has no deadline. I’ll ask you for an answer from time to time, and if you don’t have it, or give me a wrong one… Well. Do your math.”

“How do I know my answer’s _really_ wrong though?” she asked, feeling pleasant warmth building up in her body.

“You don’t.” he replied calmly. “But that’s part of the fun, innit? Besides…” he added, pausing for a moment. “You can always tell me to stop. Not many people get to say _no_ to me - but we both signed the contract.”

“You know what’s weird?” she asked as they were leaving; he wrapped his arm around her waist and she enjoyed the warm closeness of his embrace.

“Do tell.”

“The fact I _still_ don’t know who are you.” she said. “You’re rich, you have a certain modicum of power… And yet - you never come up in daily news or casual conversations. Bruce Wayne, Harvey Dent, Carmine Falcone - _those_ people come up daily. But _you_? No one in Gotham talks about Oswald Cobblepot.”

“They did, for a while.” he replied after a pause. “When I first resurfaced and claimed what’s mine. But I was too modest, too gentle… And Gotham’s a _very_ fickle, capricious audience. They grew bored of me, because I didn’t entertain them enough - and because I implied _this_ is it for me. Let’s go for a walk. I want to show you something.”

“Alright.” she said hesitantly. “I guess I had one glass of champagne too many. I need to clear my head a bit anyway.”

At this hour, the fancy district of Gotham - Newtown - was almost empty; it was a week night, and the socialites had to prepare themselves for another exhausting day of being rich and surrounded by luxury.

Oswald took her to a park downtown, a surprising island of warm light and cleanliness in the heart of the less fortunate part of town. The park seemed to have been opened to the general public very recently; there were no graffiti tags to be found, no broken glass, no demolished benches.

“This is the Cobblepot Park.” Oswald said calmly, as they were walking through the neat, perfectly even alleys. “Built by my parents.”

“So, the Cobblepots… Are like the Waynes?” she asked, looking around; but Oswald shook his head.

“Used to be.” he said softly. “But then… A lot of things happened, either in rapid succession, or all at once.”

“The Waynes were killed in a botched robbery attempt.” Charlie mused. “And their son persevered and is now the face of Gotham. You… Are not.”

“That about sums it up.” Oswald stated, not offering any further explanation. “See that bust over there? That’s my father. They didn’t exactly do him justice.” he added with a sigh, as Charlie approached the statue.

“He looks… Grim.” she said hesitantly, looking Theodore Cobblepot in the eye; there was some eerie similarity between him and his lean son. It wasn’t very obvious - but it was in the shapes of their lips and noses and eyes. According to the statue, Theodore had very sharp, piercing eyes; Oswald definitely got that from his father.

“I can definitely see a similarity.” she eventually said.

“Really? Usually people say I look a lot like my mum.”

“Maybe it’s ‘cause you’re lean. And very sharp, like a knife. Your father… Looks more like a morgenstern. Or… Whatever are those spiky metal balls called.”

“S’funny.” he muttered, standing next to her. “The Cobblepot family crest _does_ include a morgenstern. Maybe it’s genetic.” he added in a more cheerful tone. “Come on. It’s getting chilly.”

“I think this is a good moment for you to tell me what do you have in store for me.” she said when they were slowly driving through the dark streets, in direction of Oswald’s nest. That’d be the first time she actually set a foot there - all of their meetings happened at her place.

“This is a good moment for you to finally tell me your safe word.” he retorted. “Because if you don’t have one the moment you enter my place… Our contract’s null and void.”

“And if I say this word, in the middle of… _How_ is this even called? An act? A session?”

“Session. Go on.”

“If I say it… You’ll stop?” she asked; they already talked about it, more than once. She just had to be _sure_. “And there will be no consequences?”

“I’ll stop.” he said, same way he said it many times before. “I’m legally bound to do so.”

“It’s _krill_.” she finally said, looking away. “It’s short, and… It’s not something I’d normally say. So. _Krill._ ”

“Krill.” he repeated slowly. “That’s… An interesting choice.”

“Are you trying to subtly ask me what’s the story here?”

“I guess.” he said, not taking his eyes off the road.

“Remember how I told you about my ex?”

“You mentioned him once or twice, yes.”

“He introduced himself to me as Harry.” she said, tracing the glass window with her fingertips. “Except that was not his name. My father found out by a complete accident… His friend from Australia told him.” she added. “Dad has friends all over the world. So, his Australian friend told him about a local con artist who suddenly fell off the face of the Earth… And when confronted about it, Harry didn’t deny.” she said bitterly. “He was after a new start - but not an honest one. And his real name is Alexander Krill.”

“That was a _very_ ugly story.” Oswald said after a brief pause. “I can promise you one thing though.”

“Yes?”

“I’ll make you forget about Alexander.” he said. “Soon you won’t remember the reason for picking _krill_ as your safeword. I’m going to make you focus… On some much more pleasant subjects.”

“Such as..?” she asked softly.

“Such as the one of a kind sensation of being tied up for a first time.” he said, turning his head in her direction; there was a promising spark in his eyes. “And I have _just_ the perfect position for you.”

“But you won’t tell me _what_ is it.”

“And ruin the surprise? No, I don’t think so.”

He kissed her in the elevator; he pushed her against the wall and she lost herself in that kiss. She could taste wild strawberry in his breath; and he groaned quietly when her fingers found a small scar at the back of his neck.

“Did I just find _your_ sweet spot?” she whispered, caressing it gently; in response he bit her lip.

Oswald lived in a penthouse with a magnificent view; and it looked like he - or whoever he was paying for doing this for him - cleaned up recently, considering everything was absolutely spotless. He had a state-of-the-art kitchen, connected with a spacious living room; he also had an office - because of course he did, _everyone_ had a home office these days, whether they needed it or not - a small library, a slightly bigger gym, a guest bedroom, two magnificent bathrooms; but what interested her the _most_ was his spacious bedroom. The bed looked _very_ comfortable; and it didn’t look like an ordinary piece of furniture.

“It’s custom made.” Oswald said, standing behind her. “Everything’s regulated and very, _very_ sturdy.”

“What’s on the shelves?” she asked, pointing to the bookshelves lining the walls; her heart was pounding.

“Literature.” Oswald said carelessly. “ _Thematic_ literature. This is where I keep _bad_ literature.” he said, pointing to a row of bookstands tightly stuffed with books. “The majority of the genre falls into this category. Ever heard of _The Sleeping Beauty_? Not a fairytale, a series by Ann Rice.”

“I’ve read it in college.” Charlie said with a grimace. “I had a class on rape fantasies. It was… Probably the most boring thing I’ve ever read, even though it was trying its best and hardest to be shocking and edgy. But spanking gets old after a few pages of repetitive descriptions, ponyplay’s just amusing, and the general rapey overtones… It was all just dull and sad.”

“That was a _very_ brutal review.” Oswald said, sounding amused. “Your tongue’s sharp like a razor.”

“That’s what my professor said, just before giving me an A grade.”

“Then maybe you should try writing your own novel. I’m sure I’d put it where I put the _good_ books.” he added, pointing towards a nearly completely empty shelf.

“I can’t.” she said softly. “I have no experience.”

“And I think it’s about time we changed that.” he replied quietly; and she nearly melted. “Come here.”

He sat on the edge of the bed and she slowly walked up to him, her heart pounding in her chest, as his eyes followed her every move. His eyes seemed darker in this light, darker and deeper; and very briefly she wondered how would they look if he was looking at someone he _loves_.

“Turn around.”

He slowly unzipped her dress and she stopped breathing for a moment, when his fingertips lightly brushed the skin of her back, just below her bra.

“Such a lovely, graceful form.” he said quietly, slipping the dress of her shoulders; it fell down onto the floor, forming a dark puddle around her feet. “Take off your bra.”

And she did, still standing with her back to him; he gently rubbed the red traces her underwear left in her skin. She closed her eyes; his fingers were pleasantly warm.

“Don’t move now.” he said; he took both of her hands behind her back and bent her elbows.

He then tied her up, slowly and methodically; they had time. He wrapped the red rope around her chest and her arms, and immobilized her hands behind her back; her breath quickened briefly when he was adjusting the knot between her shoulder blades, slowly shortening the distance between her shoulders, forcing her to push her chest slightly forward.

“Turn around.”

She did so slowly and a bit clumsily, nearly losing balance in the process.

“Oh, you look _gorgeous_.” he said softly, glancing at her pale breasts and - already stiff - pink nipples. “And it looks like you’re enjoying yourself.”

“I am.” she said almost breathlessly; she liked the sensation of her hands being restrained, she liked the way he looked at her, she liked the chill caused by being uncertain as to what might happen _next_.

“Good.”

He fished something out of his pocket - the pendant he gave her, the one he wanted her to wear.

“It’s such a shame you _didn’t_ put it on.” he said quietly, as her eyes followed the blue gem. “It was a gift, and you rejected it… What should I do with you?”

He touched her neck with the tear-shaped stone and slowly traced a line, sending shivers down her spine.

“Hm?” he asked, slowly circling the tips of her breasts, but completely ignoring her nipples that were slowly starting to demand attention.

He traced a slow line down her stomach and stopped just above the hem of her panties and she groaned quietly.

“Maybe I’ll be merciful tonight.” he mused, putting the pendant away on a nearby table and returning his attention to her. “Maybe.”

He lightly traced the outline of her outer lips through her panties and she gasped quietly; Oswald smirked slightly, not taking his hand away.

“Isn’t it a shame you’re wearing those?” he asked, slowly circling her clit with his thumb as she groaned and bucked her hips helplessly, her knees shaking. “Wouldn’t you want me to take them off?”

“Yes.” she breathed out, trying to focus; she was getting _very_ into it, even if she felt like her legs are about to give up. His gentle teasing was maddening by itself - and the thin barrier created by her undies wasn’t helping.

“Such honesty.” he said, almost mockingly, still stroking her gently. “And what next, Charlie?”

He pinched her very lightly and she let out a breathy moan; her legs finally gave up and she nearly fell down, but he caught her.

(For a brief moment he looked so concerned she felt as if her heart is about to melt.)

“Oh oh.” he muttered, putting her on her back on the bed; it was as comfortable as it seemed. “Aren’t you an eager little thing.”

He took his tie off and threw it away before moving closer to her; he lied down on his side, resting his head against one hand, while the other one was free to wander wherever it pleased.

“I am.” she said breathlessly, feeling his fingertips between her thighs again; he gently brushed the exposed patches of her skin just outside her panties and she groaned when he started tracing just the edges of the lace crotch.

“I could take those off, you know.” he said quietly, his lips a hair’s width away from her neck. “I could take those off, and tie your legs up, and play with your sensitive little nub for a few hours… Maybe I’d use my fingers. Or maybe my tongue.” he whispered, taking his hand away and she whined in protest. “Or maybe I’d focus on your lovely little nipples instead, and completely ignore the rest.”

He moved his hand to her chest and circled her nipples without touching them - achingly, teasingly close.

“So many possibilities.” he whispered, sliding just his fingertips under the fabric, lightly caressing the skin just of her underbelly with just the faintest touches; and Charlie turned her head and kissed him feverishly, her thoughts already a blurry, fuzzy mess. Her lips were trembling - and her mind was rapidly switching between a sharp focus on the pleasant ache building up in her body and a blurry, almost delirious haze.

“I have a deal for you.” he whispered, breaking the kiss; she opened her eyes and looked at him, trying to force herself to focus.

“Y-yes?”

He smiled at the sound of her breathy, slightly shaky voice.

“I’m going to leave you alone for… Two minutes.” he said, getting up. “I need to change into something more comfortable.”

He paused for a moment, looking at her spread legs and flushed cheeks.

“And _you_ try to get out of those.” he added cheerfully, lightly pulling the fabric of her undies away and letting it snap against her skin.

“With my hands tied?!”

“Precisely. Good luck, love.”

He disappeared in the bathroom, leaving her alone, arching her back in fruitless frustration, trying to reach down with her tied up hands, to roll the fabric down a little, and let friction do the rest - but it was for nothing.

She did eventually succeed though - she used to be a cheerleader _and_ regularly practiced yoga. She was fairly agile - she wouldn’t be able to fit into a tiny box, but she _did_ eventually manage to pull her undies down with her own foot.

“I’m impressed.” she eventually heard Oswald’s amused voice; when she turned her head she saw him standing in the doorway with his arms crossed. He was leaning against the frame - and he was only wearing gray sweatpants.

For some reason that last detail was oddly frustrating to her.

“Really?!” she groaned out. “Sweatpants, Oswald?! _Sweatpants_?!”

“They are comfortable!” he said defensively. “What do you _want_ me to wear, a Hefneresque silk robe?!”

“This is my first time with bdsm, and you’re wearing _sweatpants_!” she said, writhing furiously, as he laughed. “You _prick_!”

“That’s me.” he said cheerfully; what she hated the most was the fact he actually looked _good_. “An insufferable prick.”

He walked up to the closet and pulled out another two - long - pieces of rope, as well as a plain looking box.

“What’s that?”

“A tool I decided on.” he said evasively, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “You don’t wear my necklace, you call me names… What a bad, bad girl you are.”

Her heart started to pound again when he leaned in; she bit his lip when he stole a kiss from her.

“ _And_ you bite me!” he added quietly. “You’re digging your own grave.”

He bent her legs and tied her calves to her thighs; he attached one of her bent legs to the bedpost behind her, making it impossible for Charlie to close her legs. Additionally, he put some pillows under her back - all so she could raise her head and look down.

“Comfortable?”

“Yeah.” she said, bucking her hips slightly.

He kissed her again, reaching between her legs; and she gasped, breaking the kiss, when he very gently rolled her clit between his fingertips.

“Don’t stop..!” she breathed out; to which he snickered and stopped.

“I want to make you _beg,_ love.” he stated, gently caressing her neck with his other hand. “But you’re not quite there, not yet…”

He put a clamp on her, a simple and soft one, with rubber ends; and he carefully adjusted it, until just that sensation itself started to make her unable to focus on anything else.

“Pleasant, isn’t it?” he asked her quietly, pulling out another item out of the box - a feather, very pointy and rather stiff.

Her breath quickened when he started to slowly circle her - still untouched - nipples. Eventually he started to tease them with the pointy tip - but it was not not nearly enough, as she realized with a frustrated moan, arching her back.

“Wouldn’t you want me to maybe pinch them?” he asked her quietly - and she nodded breathlessly.

“Ask for it then. Ask nicely.”

“Please…” she pleaded, feeling hot waves washing over her body; her voice was breaking. “Please!”

He looked at her almost tenderly.

“I’ll go easy on you, since you’re doing this for a first time.” he eventually said. “But next time… Try harder, love.”

He lightly pinched both of her nipples, easing some of the - almost painful - tension that built up in them; it sent surges of pleasure like electric bolts down her body and she bucked her hips involuntarily.

“Don’t worry.” he said quietly, picking the feather up again. “I haven’t forgotten.”

Soon the feather was dancing on her sensitive clit, teasing it mercilessly; and he made her watch, making sure to stop every time she looked away. It was maddening, those light strokes and flicks - and the fact she had to _watch_ , the fact she wasn’t allowed to take her eyes off the pointy tip.

She was on the verge of begging when his phone suddenly rang.

“Fuck.” he muttered, looking at the screen and back at Charlie. “Give me a second.”

He put the feather down on her stomach for a second and picked the phone up.

“Regina, give me just a second.” he said, winking at Charlie who was staring at him in disbelief. “I have my hands full. I’ll put you on the speaker in a moment.”

He put the phone down for a second.

“Bite me if you want me to stop.” he said quietly - and before Charlie fully processed it he put the mysterious Regina on speaker and covered Charlie’s mouth with his hand, before picking the feather back up and resuming his maddening teasing, her moans muffled by his hand.

“Good evening, Regina!” he said cheerfully, slowly drawing a spiral with the tip of a feather as Charlie was bucking her hips.

“Can I ask what _exactly_ am I interrupting?” a woman tiredly asked.

“I’m painting.” Oswald lied smoothly and Charlie laughed into his hand. “So. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

They carried on for a couple of minutes - a short period of time that went on _forever_ , especially once Oswald started to slowly drag the vane of his precious feather across her clit. She writhed and bucked and moaned; and didn’t even notice when he ended the call and took his hand away.

“Well, judging from the fact my hand’s still in one piece… You’re fine.”

She didn’t answer, too busy trying to remember her own name.

“Looks like this might be it for you for tonight.” he added.

“Y-yeah.” she breathed out shakily. “Does it mean you’re going to make me come now?”

“I don’t know.” he said with a nonchalant shrug. “Maybe if you ask _really_ nicely…”

He nudged her throbbing nub with his fingertips and she arched her back.

“Pretty fucking please.” she breathed out, looking at him from underneath her lashes. “You prick.”

“That was _not_ nice.” he stated. “But, somehow… I can’t quite say _no_ to you.”

She came twice that night - once from his fingers, once when he slid his length into her. He made her beg him to fuck her - and she did, over and over.

“Oh my _fucking_ god.” she eventually muttered, after catching her breath. “That was…”

“Absolutely mind-blowing? Wonderful? The best thing you’ve ever experienced?” Oswald asked with a cocky smile, to which she laughed.

“I was going to go with _nice_ , but yeah, _mind-blowing_ will do as well.” she stated as he was untying her legs. “What now? The mythical aftercare?”

“Uh-huh.” he muttered, helping her sit up. “Or - that part where I make sure you’re still in one piece. How are your hands?”

“A bit stiff.” she decided, stretching. “But I can feel my fingers, so I think it’s all good.”

“And legs?”

“I’d rather limit walking to a minimum for the next few hours.”

“Aight.” he muttered, examining the skin on her hands. “Well, you seem to be perfectly fine. That’s good.”

“Do subs often get hurt during the first session?”

“ _Very_ often.” he said with a shrug. “But I’m more of a _risk aware_ guy, rather than _safe and sane_. Accidents happen all the time, bdsm’s not an exception. Everything’s a learning experience, and so on.”

“And… Did _you_ hurt people during first sessions?”

“Twice.” he admitted. “The girl didn’t take it too well and cut ties with me. The guy, on the other hand… We still send each other holiday cards. So it’s all a matter of personal preference.”

“I see.” she said with a yawn. “Look, I don’t really have any complaints. This was fun. And I… Appreciate how _normal_ it felt. I don’t think I’d be able to start out with the _master and slave_ stuff. Can we keep it like this?” she asked suddenly. “Just… As us. Oswald and Charlie. Not… Master and pet, or whatever.”

“Sure.” he said weirdly softly. “Anything else?”

“I’d _love_ to drink something now.” she admitted; and her stomach gurgled quietly and Oswald snickered. “And a snack would be nice. _And_ a bath. And maybe a massage. Oh, and some ice cream would be nice.”

“What, all at once?”

“Ha ha, very funny.”

But eventually, he obliged - and made sure she doesn’t accidentally drown in his ridiculously deep bathtub.

“Wash my hair for me.” she said, sitting with her back to him; and she closed her eyes and sighed with satisfaction, feeling his gentle fingertips in her hair. It felt nice, being with him just like this - she definitely wouldn’t mind having it happen more often, or even on its own.

“And how was _I_?” she suddenly asked. “Do _you_ have any complaints?”

“Not really, no.” he replied after a long pause. “Or maybe… Talk back _more_. Be more feisty. You’re one of very few people who have an opportunity of not being nice to me.”

“Really? You want me to have _claws_?”

“You could say that.” he snickered. “You’re very charming when you’re trying to sound cocky and tough despite being tied up. And all it takes it a few strokes - and you turn into a quivering mess. Absolutely mesmerizing.”

She was glad she’s sitting with her back to him, because her face suddenly became very red again.

“Can I crash here?” she asked a while later, yawning; she was wearing Oswald’s - ridiculously fluffy - bathrobe, sitting on the edge of his bed. “I think I’m about to turn into a corpse for a good eleven hours or so.”

“You can crash wherever you want.” he replied, reading something on his phone. “I have some work to do anyway. Just don’t hoard all the pillows.”

“Can’t promise anything.” she muttered in response, already slipping out of the robe and under the covers. “ _God,_ this bed is so _comfortable_.”

“Sleep tight. I’ll be in my office.”

“Sure.” she muttered, her eyes closed. “Have fun.”

Moments later she was fast asleep; and she dreamt of nothing and the next morning she had a hard time remembering why is her safe word _krill_.

 


	2. Chapter 2

The young woman Fish sent his way, the curious girl seeking a chance to taste the forbidden fruit, pretty little thing named Charlie - had him wrapped around her finger as soon as he saw her that night at Peperoncino. She was gorgeous; and he quickly found himself absolutely fucking _mesmerized_ , spouting words without thinking, just to get a positive reaction out of her.

And the weirdest thing was - it seemed to be _working_. Usually people found his chattiness, his sudden spouts of logorrhea obnoxious or annoying - but she listened intently. Asked questions. Laughed at his _terrible_ jokes - even before the alcohol took the better of her and she got tipsy. And after she _did_ get tipsy - she got flirty. She shamelessly told him she wants him to go down on her, and that he smells nice, and that he has really nice hands - it felt delightful, especially considering she seemed to have no clue who is he.

His name didn’t mean anything to her - he was neither a tragic hero nor a greedy imposter to her. She had no clue about the Cobblepots and the Waynes - he was just a handsome guy in a nice suit to her, nothing more and nothing less. It was a refreshing feeling, being around someone who knew precisely nothing about him; and around someone _he_ knew nothing about.

He really did develop a habit of doing background checks on people - he developed it a long time ago, when he was first developing his Penguin persona. It was more or less useful, knowing everything about everyone; and he quickly got good at it, at digging dirty secrets out. It was _very_ useful during his - short and eventful - journey from the English gutter to the top; and Fish Mooney was very adamant about not letting him ruin his own life with this particular habit of his.

“I’m not going to give you her surname.” she repeated.

“So I won’t meet up with her.” he said stubbornly, crossing his arms. “How do I know it’s not a trap?”

“Your enemies are _dead_ , you dumb pigeon.” she sighed and he scoffed; she was one of few people in Gotham who knew about his dirty, flightless secret. Officially, Penguin and Oswald showed up in Gotham at different moments; but it was just a matter of time ‘till someone would come up with an idea of checking when did they disappear from England.

(The answer was _roughly at the same time_ ; the connection between Oswald and Penguin wasn’t too difficult to notice; but people of Gotham seemed to excel at not noticing things they didn’t _want_ to see.)

Fish was one of few people he _trusted_ \- meaning she was one of few people who had the privilege of standing up to him. He didn’t have anything on her - everyone knew about her ties to the Falcone crime empire. Everyone knew about her being a domme. Everyone knew about her on-and-off relationship with detective Bullock - except for Harvey himself, who sometimes seemed to be out of the loop. For the sake of his own mental comfort, Harvey always assumed they're in the _on_ phase; and it was sort of endearing, watching this otherwise brilliant detective struggle with figuring out his own relationship.

When confronted about it, Bullock only groaned and shrugged.

"I always skipped the dance classes at Eton." he said, as if it was a coherent answer to Oswald's question.

It was not - if anything, it only raised more questions.

"Eton?! You mean the college in Berkshire?"

"Yeah." he yawned. "Then I went to Harvard. Then... Gotham Police Academy."

"You're a mysterious man, detective Bullock."

"Ain't that the truth. Pass me the mustard."

"You're eating _donuts_."

"And what's your exact point here?"

Oswald had nothing on Fish Mooney - her partner’s disgusting habits and meticulously hidden brilliant mind couldn’t possibly be used against her. Plus she was more valuable as a voluntarily ally anyway; her boys and girls mastered the craft of gathering and piecing together small pieces of information on their clients. Nothing big enough to possibly endanger the good reputation of various establishments Fish was running - but big enough to be of value for people collecting them.

And now she was firmly refusing to give him any concrete informations on a girl who was seeking out a patient dom to let her test out if bdsm truly is for her. She gave him a vague basics - red hair. Kind of anxious, but definitely smart, with a penchant for academics. She sounded nice - but the fact he was unable to see what kind of person is she _really_ was driving him crazy.

But - Fish did succeed in convincing him to maybe for once in his life go to a meeting _without_ checking where did the other person go to school and what vegetable are they according to a BuzzFeed quiz and who are they following on twitter and if they have a secret offshore bank account.

“Oswald, you need to _relax_. I have over a decade of experience more than you. This girl is not hiding anything that could endanger _you_.” Fish told him firmly. “Everyone has their own secrets. You’re not a master of the universe, you know. Not everyone’s out to get you.”

“Maybe you’re right.” he muttered in response, lighting a cigarette. “Fine, I’ll meet with her. What does she look like again?”

And that was it and it was settled - and before the night came to an end, he was _smitten_. Much to his own surprise - he enjoyed hanging out with someone he didn’t know anything about. He only knew what she wanted him to know - and it was… Both enough and not _nearly_ enough; an appetizer of sorts - he definitely felt like wanting more. More of _what_ exactly - he wasn’t sure, but he knew he wants it.

She was a flirty, bubbly delight - and he was well aware of the fact alcohol is great at making people tell the truth. She most likely meant everything she said, and he had no qualms flirting back - he _also_ meant everything he said, especially that part about her being lovely.

Things almost get complicated once they were alone in her flat, and she asked him if he’s going to kiss her - because for a moment… He hesitated.

He stopped considering himself to be a decent person well over a decade ago; there simply was no _point_ in being decent. But there were certain things he’d rather not do - he wasn’t exactly _decent_ , but that wasn’t stopping him from having a moral code. He’d never dabble with human trafficking. He’d not steal from someone who couldn’t afford having something stolen from them. He wouldn’t make out with drunk people, no matter how much into them and their ridiculously soft lips he was. He was never a good student, but life was an excellent teacher - so there he was, at her place, disgustingly close to kissing her. She seemed to enjoy another obnoxious habit of his, the chin-raising thing; but her eyes were hazy and she wasn’t sober.

So he didn’t give in; but he did call Fish as soon as he left the building.

“At this hour this better be good, boy.” she yawned. “Or catastrophically bad.”

“I’m going to need your help.” he stated, already having made up his mind about further pursuing this odd, blissful sensation he felt in the company of the red-haired flirt. “She doesn’t _know_ me.”

“Well, yes, she doesn’t. She’s new to Gotham. And people from outside Gotham tend to not care about local petty feuds and hostile takeovers.”

“She doesn’t _know_ me.” he repeated, this time with more satisfaction in his voice. “You don’t understand. People from here - _everyone_ knows me and my sob story and how _touching_ and _moving_ it was for Bruce to reunite with me after years of absence. Everyone knows I’m the second CEO of Wayne Enterprises, everyone knows I’m a man with power, some people even know exactly how involved I was in what happened to Falcone and Hill… But _her_? She has no idea. She has no fake image of me in her mind, painted either by media or by myself. Fish, this… This is _incredible._ ”

“It’s the little things, right?” Fish said hesitantly. “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

“Doesn’t matter!” he said impatiently. “Let me have my high… And maybe paint me in good colors, hm? Because I think we’re heading in the right direction.”

“Are you only interested in her because she has no clue about you?”

“It’s still better than being a gold digger, right? Let me have my blessed anonymity.”

“Fine, Jesus. Have it your blasted way.”

***

And he did and it seemed to be working - because the next day Charlie, all sober, invited him over for dinner. He didn’t know she knows how to cook, and is confident enough about her skills to present them to others; learning new things at normal, casual pace was exciting. She was a mystery to him - one most definitely worth solving.

“I’m not picky.”

“Alright, but there _has_ to be something you _won’t_ eat. I’d rather know beforehand.”

“Raw fish.” he finally admitted, wincing slightly; everyone was well aware of his inability to swallow raw fish meat. More courageous - and trusted - of Penguin’s men sometimes even joked about it; they said he’d probably starve to death if he went to where real penguins live.

“Alright, so sushi’s out of question.” she said, sounding almost disappointed. “Anything else?”

“Unseasoned avocado. It tastes like… Clay. _Green_ clay. And you can actually _taste_ the green.”

“God, I know.” she muttered and sighed. “I’m firmly convinced that everyone who loves avocado toast had been brainwashed. By… Who’s the biggest avocado manufacturer on Earth?”

“Nestle, probably.” he said, throwing a tennis ball at a wall; he was in his - absolutely useless - office, pretending to be a productive co-CEO of a massive company. Nobody would bother him; he had all the time in the world for this incredibly important call. “They hoard a huge chunk of natural resources. Might be hoarding avocados as well.”

“This sounds like a shockingly informed opinion. Is there something I should know about, mister Cobblepot?” she asked playfully and his heart - his treacherous, pained heart, made out of bubblegum, sticking to anyone who as much as touched it the right way - skipped a beat, and he felt…

He felt like a person he never got a chance to be. Obviously, he wasn’t an empty shell, devoid of emotion - positive emotions weren’t an alien concept to him. He knew what love is, and what it feels - but he never actually had a chance for a warm, bubbly infatuation.

And that was what he felt - for a girl most likely only interested in a formal friends with benefits arrangement. It wasn’t uncommon for people who started out in a purely sexual relationship to end up falling in love, considering the amount of trust and intimacy and vulnerability involved - but he was still surprised.

“Don’t tell anyone, but I’m actually a spy.” he said in a theatrical whisper and she giggled. “I’m the _king_ of corporate espionage. I know everything about everyone. I’ve spied for Microsoft, I’ve spied for Apple… And right now? Right now I’m spying for LexCorp. “

“I’ll take your secret to the grave.” she promised him in a playfully solemn tone; and after she hung up he absentmindedly threw the ball again, and only realized it as it hit him in the face.

***

She seemed to be pleased with the wine he brought - and it _really_ reminded him of her. From what he noticed, she blushed a lot - perhaps it was in her redhead genes. And she seemed to be determined to get him out of his fancy clothes and into her bed; the blouse she wore was made out of a thin, kind of sheer fabric - and he could see her shapely breasts just fine in the right light. They were small and his skin tingled a bit when he imagined their warmth; and in the soft light of her living room and under the subtle mist of her clothes her nipples looked like raspberries. Or some other vaguely pink, shapely fruits.

(He was so absorbed with this sight he absentmindedly started to play with a stray raspberry, just to force himself to focus on her _face_.)

He kissed her when he was helping her with the dishes; and he unbuttoned her blouse and took it off and she taught him how she likes to be touched, how she likes to be treated. She seemed so sad, so pained when she was talking about her trust being violated; and he understood. He knew this feeling well; this stinging pain that eventually fades into a dull ache, always present.

But she trusted _him_ enough to be so vulnerable around him, so open; enough to guide his hands, and in return he trusted her enough to tell her to not hold back and leave as many marks on him as she wants to. He enjoyed a bit of pain; it made him feel alive, it reminded him he’s still just a human, with blood coursing through his veins. Pain kept him grounded.

***

He felt weird around her - in both a good and a bad way. He didn’t mind learning more about her at a normal pace - but it seemed like he hit a wall. It felt like she doesn’t want to reveal more - and he wasn’t going to pry, not this time. Their arrangement was going to be all about boundaries and trust; and he knew better than to sabotage his very good chances at having fun.

So he didn't pry into her life, instead offering her glimpses into his own; small ones. Nothing compared to the backstory behind her safeword.

He had dealings with Alexander Krill, a long time ago, in what felt like another life - he was good at what he did, very good and very unpleasant. He wasn’t surprised to hear about what was he planning to do to Charlie - but that didn’t make it any less… Unpleasant.

He felt a tight knot in his stomach and his throat felt oddly lumpy and tight. It was an unpleasantly familiar feeling, a grim reminder of things he hated. It felt hypocritical, feeling this way about double identities and secret agendas - but fire’s the best weapon against fire.

He made her forget about Alexander, at least for a night - and his heart skipped a beat when she saw his sweatpants and practically threw a hissy fit, absolutely bewildered with the fact he's wearing _this._ Not many people had the courage to actually talk back to him - but she didn’t know a thing about Wayne Enterprises or the Penguin. She was quick to talk back to him, even with her lips trembling and her back arching, and her body was so beautifully responsive - and her breath still tasted of forest fruits.

She fell asleep in his bed afterwards, after he made sure her limbs aren't going numb; he was a violent man, yes - but he knew better than to ruin something he liked. It was an old habit of his, back from when he had to meticulously care about everything that brought him joy. And it also felt so human - for once making sure that the bruises he inflicted aren't permanent.

(Well, not _once._ She wasn't his first partner in Gotham - and he was well aware she's not going to be the last. He was just a learning experience for her; and he wasn't planning to leave anytime soon.)

She fell asleep in his bed and she was snoring quietly and he went to his home office and did the one thing he sure as hell knew isn't going to solve anything - he poured himself a glass of whiskey.

He looked at the glass and he nodded and then drank half the bottle in one gulp, not bothering with glasses anymore.

He was never great at solving his problems.

***

The problem was, obviously, his apparent… _Infatuation._ He always felt things very strongly, and easily switched between extremes; he grew attached quickly and wasn’t quite great at letting go, though he was working on it. His emotions and attachment were a bit like dry hay; and the right gestures from the others, right incentives, right words - were like stray sparks.

He didn’t have much for the majority of his life. Lots of anger and frustration. His fists. His brilliant brain, good looks, a clever tongue. He lost everything and everyone, and he learned from day to day, from moment to moment, without really planning far ahead, constantly on the move, quick like lightning, walking to the sound of his own drum - except now he had settled down.

And loneliness was starting to get to him; and it seemed like he had found a cure to it, a cure in the form of his new sub, who was sitting in his kitchen, waiting for him to serve her breakfast. He wasn’t a professional cook - but he had been living alone for the bigger part of his life. So with time - he got decent.

“How did you sleep?” he asked her, gathering his ingredients; he didn’t get much sleep that night, first being busy wallowing in his misery, and then - distracted with her warm presence next to him.

(He turned his head and opened his eyes and her sleeping face was there, her lips slightly parted, her eyelids twitching from time to time; he could get used to this sight. He could get used to this presence.)

“Last time I woke up so well-rested was after my mom drugged me with sleeping pills.” she said and he froze in place for a moment. “It was… For my own good. Unfortunately, people have no plugs you can pull to turn them off.”

“I see.” he said quietly, thinking back to his mother; drugged out of her mind, broken, a shell of a woman who used to ruffle his hair and patch up his scraped knees. “And how are you feeling?”

“Hungry.” she replied firmly. “Who taught you how to cook?”

“Books.” he replied, cracking the eggs. “Experiments. And more experienced people. _No, Oswald!_ ” he said, mimicking a worrisome Polish lady. “ _That’s not how you chop an onion, you stupid boy. Men! Will do everything their way, will mess everything up their way._ ”

Charlie laughed and he felt warm waves washing over his heart; and he was so busy with trying to make her laugh more that in the end, he nearly burned her french toast.

When he turned around, sliding a plate in her direction she was absorbed with her phone, reading something intently; and when she looked up at him there was something in her eyes, something like concern, something like curiosity - the same thing people had in their eyes when he first resurfaced and told his sob story.

_Ah, shite._

“I know this look.” he said, suddenly feeling tired.

“I was trending on twitter.” she said defensively, and he raised his eyebrows. “Well. _We_ were.”

“I had no idea you’re a celebrity.”

“That’s because I’m not. My dad used to be the mayor of New York and my mom’s a medical director.” she said tiredly and he nodded slowly; right. Every city had its own local celebrities. “Someone took a picture of us leaving Lafontaine’s yesterday. I… How is it even _possible_ for me to not know about you being a CEO of _Wayne Enterprises_?” she asked suddenly. “It’s everywhere in Gotham! What the hell, Oswald?”

“Hey, it’s not _my_ fault people got bored of me. It’s not like you’re suddenly going to be a public person.” he added tiredly. “No one snoops around in my private life, I made sure of it.”

She raised her eyebrows, staring him down - and he remembered she’s a politician’s daughter. Maybe he just said too much.

“I went through articles about you online.” she finally said and he squinted, trying to figure out _how_ did she manage to go through them during those thirty-or-so minutes. “Don’t look so surprised, they were mostly repetitive. And… I don’t understand something.” she said almost hesitantly. “Why didn’t you want me to know about your… History?”

“I barely slept last night, so I’m going to be honest with you.” he said, already plotting out his lie; well, not a _lie_. A half-truth. “People have a certain image of me, right? Even people who don’t know me - but they know _about_ me. And it gets old really quickly. So I like to sometimes… Get involved with an outsider. Someone who won’t look at me and go _oh, you’re Bruce Wayne’s business partner! Here, let me bend my back for you and lick your boots_.”

That… Was not actually a lie. He killed Falcone and Hill for justice and revenge - but he lied his way into Wayne Enterprises for selfish joy and out of envy. Bruce had everything that was supposed to be _his -_ money, power, fame, happiness, respect.

But those things - they got boring quickly. Tiring and dull. They meant nothing - and sure, feeling empty and bored in a luxurious flat was way better than feeling angry in a dimly lit shithole. But it was all so… Stagnant.

And very quickly, Gotham forgot about him and his sob story; and only Bruce remembered, wrapped around his finger, fearing the day Oswald might change his mind and publish what he had on the Waynes and _their_ involvement in the great tragedy of the Cobblepot family.

Naturally, he had some outlets, means of feeling alive again - he had brought Penguin with him, after all. He had illegal boxing fights. He had Fish Mooney and the Iceberg.

And now he also had Charlie, who - despite his experience - was his first _formal_ submissive. He usually did it without the paperwork; but Fish advised him it might be better to have everything on paper. And he agreed, because in the end - he’d always agree with Fish.

And it seemed like he might be walking on thin ice - which was logical, considering Charlie’s bad history with men hiding the truth from her. Hiding - admittedly rather poorly, it was more of a _not mentioning it_ , rather than _straight up lying_ \- his position and story from her seemed to not be a wise move; and he could only imagine how she’d react to the knowledge of him being the Penguin, the latest scourge of Gotham, a violence-loving prick who killed Carmine Falcone, pushed Hamilton Hill to suicide and was at war with Gotham’s oldest, most respected arms dealer.

He was a man of many secrets - and she seemed to be a more truth-oriented person.

“You’re in luck.” she said calmly, taking a bite. “I’m not impressed by rich people, considering I’m one myself.”

“Watch out, I might develop a thing for your honesty.”

“Oh, but I thought you already did.”

And she was right - he did, he absolutely bloody did.

***

He developed a thing for the entirety of her, and soon he discovered he enjoys the aftercare and morning-after parts of their sessions as much as the sessions proper.

Her enthusiasm about everything he had in store for her was mesmerizing - even if it was often mixed with her being flustered.

He liked making her flustered. He was kind of shameless himself, and had no problems with talking dirty - and it didn’t take much to make her turn very red. He liked making her flustered - but he also liked making her laugh, or getting some snark out of her. He once told her he’d like her to talk back to him more - and she obliged.

And he loved when one thing lead to another.

He once laughed at his own joke, and she - despite laughing as well - called him an egomaniac; so he winked at her and reminded her they’re about to begin, so maybe she should watch herself.

“And what if I _don’t_?” she asked boldly, first hints of pink already on her cheeks; she crossed her arms and stared at him impudently. “What if I, for example, call you a _prick who’s so in love with himself even Narcissus would find it a bit laughable_?”

“Then it’s going to be a _very_ long day for you.”

About a month had passed since they signed the contract. In total, they already had nine sessions behind them - they both had a lot of free time on their hands, but Oswald still had to at least pretend he’s invested in _helping_ Bruce run Wayne Enterprises. As a result, they didn’t have a regular schedule of any sorts; they’d simply go with the flow.

And this was going to be their first all-day session - naturally with breaks peppered here and there, since they were both human. It was going to be their first all-day session - and Charlie seemed to be intent on making it as frustrating for herself as humanly possible.

(Edging and denial was their modus operandi of choice - she seemed to highly enjoy having her patience tested over and over again, even if she called him names and almost broke her spine a few times trying to get out of her bondage. In a weird way, he liked being called names by her.)

“It’d be a long day anyway.” she said, turning around. “Since, you know, I’d be forced to listen to your eulogies about yourself.”

“You just dug your own grave, love.”

“It’s not my fault you gave me a shovel.” she muttered as he was getting her out of her clothes. “Prick.”

“You can call me names now, but I guarantee you, love…” he promised her, watching her take off her bra. “In a few hours you’ll regret it.”

He pulled out a piece of rope; but he wasn’t going to tie her up, at least not yet. This was the rougher kind; it’d bruise her skin very visibly.

“I think I made a new friend here.” she said as he was wrapping the rope around her waist; he glanced up at her, pausing. “Oh, I’m sorry, am I not supposed to talk about normal stuff?”

“What? No!” he replied quickly, resuming his work. “Keep talking. I actually _do_ like listening to you.”

He meant it - he liked it when she acted like… There were something more except for friends with benefits with her. Hearing about mundane stuff, all while rigging a knotted matanawa, felt good.

“She seems nice.” Charlie continued. “Uuh. That’s… A big knot.”

“Yes, it is.” he replied, tightening the rope slightly; he wanted her to be able to feel the knot standing, while also being able to sit down. “So, that friend. How did you two meet?”

“We live in the same building.” Charlie replied, squirming slightly. “Oh. Oh my.”

“Keep talking.” he said, wrapping his arm around her waist and leading her towards the couch in the living room.

“Something tells me I might need my voice tonight.” she said, almost evasively; a subtle reminder for him not to pry.

So he didn’t, even though he wanted - he wanted to know about her everyday life. But their arrangement was purely sexual; so he decided to enjoy it as much as possible.

He sat down on the couch, pulling her down onto his lap; his right thigh was between her legs and when he raised it slightly it pressed into the knot, making it press tighter against her.

Charlie inhaled sharply and he rested his chin on her shoulder.

“I’m not going to tie you up for now.” he informed her, reaching for the tv remote. “But it doesn’t mean I’m going to make anything easy for you.”

“I’d hate it if you made _anything_ easy, you know.” she said, her voice shaky already. “What are we watching?”

“Whatever you want.”

“I think I’m in mood for _V for Vendetta._ ” she muttered as he opened Netflix; he froze for a moment. “I used to have a crush on V, you know.”

“Really?” he asked, his thoughts racing. “How come?”

“He’s a pretentious, selfish prick with loose morals who lost himself in his mask. I was absolutely insufferable in my _brooding and dark_ phase.” she breathed out, and he fought off the urge to smile bitterly; it’s one thing to romanticize V as a teenager. He doubted she’d be fond of _his_ secret identity if she knew about it.

(One of the reasons he decided to blackmail Bruce to get a position as the second CEO was because he felt like he needed a clear distinction between _Oswald_ and _Penguin_ ; sometimes he couldn’t tell which one is really him, and which one’s just a costume.)

“Weren’t we all?” he said, starting the movie; he bounced his leg slightly and she squirmed, nervously clutching the fabric of his sweatpants.

“Your hands are free, but you can’t touch yourself.” he informed her, gently cupping her breasts with his hands. “Me, on the other hand… I’m going to touch you a lot.”

He kissed her neck, and she groaned - but it quickly turned into a breathy moan when he started to slowly massage the skin around her nipples with his fingertips, not touching them, just slowly making circles.

He paused for a moment few minutes into the film, when Evey and V first met and V cut his symbol in a nearby poster.

“ _Vorro?_ ” Oswald quietly muttered - and Charlie bursted out laughing, like it was _the_ funniest joke she had ever heard. She laughed hysterically and it was full of wheezing, and she eventually cried - and it was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.

“S-sorry!” she eventually choked out, and he sat there, completely mesmerized.

“Don’t ever be sorry about laughing at my bad, bad jokes.” he replied softly, resuming - both the movie and his gentle teasing. “Was it really _that_ funny?”

“Either it was, or my brain’s already tired.”

“You know, this is a weird thing to watch while having a half-naked, horny girl sitting in my lap.” he eventually said, as V was torturing Evey; at that point Charlie had to actively try and force herself to not squirm, as it was making everything worse.

“I’ve watched it so many times I’m completely desensitized.” she breathed out; he brushed her nipples with his fingertips and she whimpered quietly. “Also I’m not horny.”

“Sure you aren’t.” he replied, rolling her nipples between his fingertips; she arched her back. “And I bet you wouldn’t want this knot to just disappear.”

“What knot?” she asked, trying to sound nonchalant; he bounced his leg and she breathed out sharply.

“Yes, you’re so nonchalant, so unbothered… But wouldn’t it be _nice_ for it to be gone?” he went on, gently tapping the knot with his fingertips. “So you could slide your hand down your panties…”

“Shut up…” she muttered, squirming; he snickered and gently bit the tip of her ear. Every _stop_ and _shut up_ meant that he’s on the right track to making her lose her composure.

“I could shut up.” he said innocently. “I could slide off the couch, kneel between your legs, push your thighs apart…”

She didn’t answer - but her breath quickened and her grip on the fabric of his pants tightened.

“I could go down on you.” he continued quietly, practically whispering; none of them was paying any attention to the movie anymore. “I know how much you like to feel my tongue on your clit, making circles, slowly, gently…”

She turned around on his lap and put her hands on his shoulders; they were trembling slightly and her breath was shaky and her cheeks were beautifully flushed.

“Shut up, or I’ll bite your tongue off.” she warned him; he snickered quietly, looking her in the eye.

(Her eyes were deep blue, and reminded him of an ocean; one he wouldn’t mind drowning in.)

“Oh really?” he asked quietly, brushing a stray lock of hair away from her face. “But I was _so_ sure you like it when I tie you down and toy with you with my tongue. Don’t you?”

She kissed him, and it was a very breathy, hungry kiss; she bit his bottom lip and stroked the back of his neck and he felt he’s on the brink of telling her exactly how fond he grew of her.

He moved his lips to her neck, and slowly started to move them lower - and put his hands on her hips, to keep her from grinding against the knot and his leg. He wasn’t going to let her come - not yet, at least.

She gripped his hair tightly as he was peppering her perky breasts with kisses and bites and flicks of his tongue. Her nipples were rock hard, and his light bites made her arch her back; he loved it when she did that. He also loved how noisy she was - and her look of utter betrayal after he pulled his head away and announced it’s time for a break.

“But I don’t need a break!” she protested as he was taking the rope off.

“But _I_ do.” he said nonchalantly. “Come on, love. I get to watch you squirm from nothing for fifteen minutes.”

“I’m not going to squirm.” she said stubbornly.

But she did end up squirming; she was fidgety and kept watching him like a hawk. He enjoyed having his eyes on her; and she was paying a lot of attention to his hands.

He could swear she sighed with relief as he reached for the rope again.

“Ah, I remember when we first started.” he snickered, wrapping it around her waist. “I’m surprised you hadn’t resorted to calling me names yet.”

“I did, in my head.” she said proudly and he glanced at her.

“I just had an idea.” he eventually said, straightening his back. “Come on.”

He took her to his bedroom, where he kept the think he needed - but he took her there by using the loose piece of the barely-started rope rigging as a leash of sorts.

She seemed to be amused by it.

“Really?” she asked as he pulled her behind. “I know you said you’d rather avoid collars and leashes, but… Really? _Really_?”

“Oh, be quiet, you little devil.” he replied, going through one of the boxes in his closet. “Where did I… Ah! There it is. Close your eyes.” he added, turning around and hiding the surprise behind his back; she squinted suspiciously.

“Is it something that’s going to make me _actually_ call you names?” she asked; and he winked at her.

“That’s my intention, yes. Come on. You’re going to like it.”

More or less hesitantly, she obliged; and he finished tying up the rope between her legs, adding a certain extra to the knot.

“Isn’t it the time for your yoga thing?” he asked as they were leaving the bedroom; she gasped quietly.

“Are you seriously going to make me do _yoga_ with _this_?” she asked, pointing at the knot; he nodded solemnly.

“Oh, absolutely.”

“You fucking _sadist_.” she muttered as they were entering his - rather small, but it was enough for him - private gym. It had everything he needed to stay in shape - a punching bag, some mats, some weights, a pull-up bar, a stationary bike in the corner.

That was the first time Charlie visited this particular part of his home; she looked around with curiosity.

“Fish told me you used to be a boxer.” she eventually said, brushing his punching bag with her fingertips. “Were you good?”

“I was _incredible_.” he stated. “I was always the safest bet.”

“And are you _still_ good?” she asked with a peculiar spark in her eyes.

“Don’t think I forgot what you once told me about getting off to _Fight Club_.” he shot back with a wink and she scoffed. “I know you like watching half naked men beat each other up.”

“Half naked _handsome_ men.” she said proudly. “I’m a simple girl.”

“And a very, _very_ wicked one. Come on.” he added, patting her on the shoulder. “Get cracking.”

He watched her practice twice or thrice before, and it never failed to mesmerize him; no wonder she was so agile and graceful.

She noticed his - hopefully not awkwardly tender - gaze and smiled; her face was flushed again, most likely thanks to the knot securely tied over her clit.

He fished a small remote out of his pocket.

“Surprise.” he said, pressing a button; and a small, bullet vibe he hid inside the knot started to buzz. The rope was rough and organic - and for some reason, organic fibers transferred vibrations much better than synthetic ones.

Charlie’s eyes widened and she bit her lip; eventually she let out a long moan and Oswald laughed.

“Too intense?” he asked mockingly, lowering the intensity; she groaned, visibly frustrated.

“You _prick_.” she muttered, getting up and walking up to him. “Give me that remote.”

“Or _what_?” he asked, raising it high above her head. “Watch out, darling, or I might give you something to call me names for.”

She jumped up a few times, fruitlessly trying to reach the remote - and he laughed in her face, randomly switching between the intensity levels. Eventually she gave up - and resumed her yoga routine, as he watched, playing with the remote.

By the time she got to the end of upavistha konasana she seemed to be seriously considering ripping the rope off and either strangling him with it or shoving a hand between her legs. Or both, at the same time.

“Looks like it’s my turn to sweat.” he decided and she sighed. “And, since you _attacked me_ earlier…”

“I did _what_ now?!”

“...I’m not going to just turn my back on you.” he continued, pretending he didn’t hear her.

He - more or less forcefully - got her to lie on her stomach on a padded bench, making sure the knot didn’t move from where it _should_ be.

“God.” she breathed out, writhing.

He kneeled down in front of her, pulling a pair of handcuffs from his other pocket.

“You _do_ remember we can stop at any moment, right?”

“Yes, but I’m far from done.” she said, sounding surprised. “Sure, I’d do anything for an orgasm - but this is _fun._ ”

“Good.” he said, handcuffing her to the bench - he placed the chain behind the front bracket of the bench, meaning she could reach forward, but not very far. “See this remote?”

“Y-yeah.”

He pressed a button, and the vibe started again.

“I just set your little friend to the random mode.” he said cheerfully, and she groaned. “You know. To keep you occupied while I say in shape. And…”

He placed the remote on the ground - _just_ beyond her reach.

“You can turn it off any time! That is, if you manage to get the remote.”

“You _dick._ ” she said as he was getting up. “You _prick_. You-”

She soon stopped insulting him and started to make much lovelier noises - and she was more fun to listen to than the meticulously composed playlist songs for which he cherry-picked in his spare time.

She was a complete mess by the time he was finished - very frustrated and very aggressive about it.

“Well.” he said, wiping the sweat off his face and kneeling down in front of her again.

“Having fun?” he asked; to which she flipped him off with her cuffed hands.

“Oh, Charlie.” he said, pretending to be hurt. “Here I am, making sure you’re not bored - and _this_ is how you thank me?”

“I’m going to _kill you_ tonight.”

“Are you now?” he said quietly, imagining her hands on his throat; this thought sent a surge of excitement down his spine. “Anyway. It’s time for my break.”

“ _Your_ break?!”

“Well, yes.” he said with pretend surprise. “Look at how sweaty and gross I am! And you’ve been just comfortably lying here, doing nothing. _Your_ break… Can wait.”

He left her on the bench with the vibrating knot for additional fifteen minutes - and he went to take a shower. The bathroom was located on the other side of the corridor, and he left all the doors open - so he could hear her in case she decided to use her safeword.

But she didn’t - and he spent those fifteen minutes thinking… About her, really. About her flushed cheeks and breathy moans and half-closed eyes; but also about her laughter and the way she rolled her eyes.

He came back to the gym with his hair wet and his dick hard - and Charlie was still riding the edge.

“Your dick’s showing, you dick.” she breathed out, squirming. “I have a deal for you.”

“I’m all ears. Just make it a good one.”

“Will you take this thing off me if I…”

She paused for a moment, and he waited patiently.

“If I blow you?” she eventually finished, and he whistled quietly. She must’ve been _really_ desperate - she wasn’t a huge fan of blowjobs. They weren’t a part of her _absolutely no don’t even ask_ list - but they were on the more reluctant side of the _mmmmaybe_ one.

And it was a shame - because she had a nimble tongue, probably from all those insults she kept hurling at him. He was a simple man - he couldn’t say _no_ to such an offer.

“Yes.” he said, uncuffing her hands.

They switched places; he sat on the bench and she knelt on the floor, resting her hands on his thighs; her lips were trembling and she groaned when he pressed the button on the remote, setting the vibe to low.

“Come on.” he said quietly, putting a hand on her head and gently pushing it down.

The inside of her mouth and her breath and her tongue vibrated slightly from her muffled moans and he tilted his head back, closing his eyes. He could feel her hair under his fingers and he played with it, as she worked her magic with her tongue and her mouth.

“ _Fuck_!” he muttered under his breath, impulsively gripping her hair tightly; she raised her head and smiled at him as he was catching his breath.

“Good enough?” she asked with theatrical humility. “ _Sir_?”

“Oh, you cocky minx.” he breathed out, turning the vibe off. “Get up, so I can untie you.”

“I think I could use a shower.” she said as he was untying the knots and loops.

“You should also probably eat something.”

Like on command, her stomach gurgled; she laughed and he smiled.

“Yeah. Make me a snack while I… Cool down.”

He made her a turkey tortilla wrap while she was showering - and this mundane domesticity felt… It felt perfect, actually. He wouldn’t mind sharing his life with her - but then he realized how abruptly she ended the topic of potentially making a new friend.

_Right._

Her eyes were red when she left the bathroom, wearing his bathrobe that kind of stopped being his and became hers.

“I got shampoo in my eyes.” she announced. “Also I’m not putting those panties back on.”

“I can imagine.” he said with a forced smile, his heart kind of aching; he almost regretted forcing himself to make a clear distinction between Oswald and the Penguin. Penguin wouldn’t be so coy about his feelings; he wouldn’t bother with a mask of fake decency. “After _so_ many hours…”

“I have them in my pocket.” she warned him, taking the plate from him. “So don’t piss me off, or I’ll throw them at you.”

“I’m a grown man. You can’t scare me with your underwear. If anything… I’m kind of curious.” he teased her, resting his elbows on the kitchen counter. “About the effects of my hard work.”

“Hard work?!” she scoffed. “ _Please._ The knot and the vibe were doing everything for you. You played with my tits - and that’s all _you_ did.”

“Yes, but it’s working! I can only imagine how _frustrated_ you must be.” he said with a wink. “And that’s not all I’ve got up my sleeve.” he said with a wink, stopping himself from calling her _love_ again.

“Next time Fish asks me how is our arrangement going I’m going to just scream at her for six hours.” she muttered and he cocked his head; he wasn’t aware of Fish asking Charlie anything about her ongoing thing. He wondered why is she doing it - out of concern? And if yes - was it in regards to him, or to Charlie? Or was it something else, fueled by her own interests? He sure as hell didn’t ask her to survey Charlie - he only asked her to paint him in a good light if occasion arises.

“She’ll hang up on you.”

“So I’ll come and continue in person.”

He made her drink some electrolytes and eat a chocolate bar; and she was very vocal about not wanting to do it, at one point even resorting to shouting her safe word.

“Really, Charlie?”

“You’re supposed to stop whatever you’re doing!”

“Yes, in regards to sex. And unfortunately for you - I _do not_ have a force-feeding kink.”

“A _what_?!”

But eventually, she complied; and she chewed on her Snickers as they were sitting on his couch watching the news, her head resting on his shoulder.

“Oh, I know this guy!” she said during the segment about new details emerging from the mystery surrounding Hamilton Hill’s sudden suicide. “Dad used to throw darts at his picture.”

“Used to?”

“Yeah, he eventually switched to pinning it to a punching bag. Claimed it feels much better.”

“I thought you have no connections to Gotham.”

“That’s because _I_ don’t.” she said with a shrug. “Dad, on the other hand? He’s a politician _and_ a businessman. New York and Gotham aren’t that far away. He has friends all over the country - as well as critics.”

“Suddenly I’m almost sad he’s dead.” Oswald mused, remembering his late night meetings with Hill, remembering everything Hill did to his family. “That’d be an interesting confrontation.”

“Your turn.” she said, turning her head and looking at him. “You insinuated you’re happy Hill’s dead. Why?”

“I never-” he started to protest, but she cut him off.

“I majored in English Lit.” she informed him, in a tone one would normally use for something like _I fought in Vietnam_ or _I attended the same party as Donald Trump_. “I’m _great_ at reading between verses. So. What’s the story?”

“He used to be my father’s political rival.” Oswald eventually said, looking away. “Until my dad killed himself. Hill won by landslide, and… Well. From what I’ve heard his death did Gotham a lot of good. I spent the majority of my life in England.” he added. “So I wasn’t here to… Form an actual opinion.”

“Fair enough.” she nodded, seemingly satisfied - and he was almost tempted to tell her the real story behind his disdain for Hill; all the things he shouldn’t know, all the things he did in the shadows.

(But there was no point in doing so. Their arrangement was between Oswald and Charlie; there was no reason to add Penguin to the mix.)

Eventually, the break was over - about fifteen minutes after Charlie began to fidget and squirm on the couch. He pretended he’s not seeing anything - if she wanted to continue, she had to ask.

“So, what now?” she eventually asked, playing with the belt of her bathrobe. “I think I’m ready for round three.”

“Are you now?” he asked with fake skepticism. “Hm. Prove it.”

She practically jumped out of the robe and sat on his lap; she took his hand and guided it between her legs, looking him in the eye.

“Hm.” he muttered, feeling her warmth on his fingertips. “I don’t know. I think you might need a little… Warming up. You know. To not lose momentum during the finale.”

He gently stroked her lips and winked at her; she squirmed anxiously and groaned when his index finger drew an arch above her clit.

“Touch it.” she muttered, resting her forehead against his shoulder. “Please.”

“All in due time.” he said quietly, gently pulling her hair with his free hand; her eyes were sparkling and beautiful and her lips were so, so soft as he kissed her. He enjoyed kissing her as much as he enjoyed teasing her and making her roll her eyes and making her laugh; she was fun to kiss, with her trembling lips and breathy moans stuck in her throat.

“Prick.”

“But a _charming_ one.” he replied, gently pushing her off. “Come on.”

He lead her to his - rarely used - office; it was modern and bright, full of leather and smooth, shiny surfaces. He didn’t like it much - but it was perfect for making the right impression.

Also that was where he kept a certain something he needed. He picked the parcel up recently and tossed it into the drawer of his massive, heavy desk; it was one of his few actually busy days.

But first - he had a girl to tie up. Charlie squinted suspiciously as he started to wrap the rope around her, pressing her arms to her torso.

“This one’s rough.” she stated. “And I bruise easily.”

“Try to not squirm too much then.” he muttered in response.

She laughed nervously when he sat her down on the surface of his rarely used desk.

“This desk’s going to be filthy, you know.”

“I’m well aware.” he replied, sitting in his - decadently comfortable - chair, made for people who were supposed to be sitting down for long, long hours. “Don’t worry about it.”

He found the thing he was looking for and unpacked it; and Charlie squirmed anxiously, seeing a calligraphy brush.

(Originally he _was_ intending on learning the japanese art of calligraphy - but he quickly forgot about it.)

“Oh, come _on_.” she said after he put it down; he bent one of her legs and pushed it aside. She rested her other foot on the edge of his seat.

“You’ve been _terribly_ rude to me this entire day, you see.” he said smoothly, gently spreading her out with two fingers, picking the brush up. “Also you’ve complained about me not actually _doing_ anything, so…”

“Is it too late for me to take it back?” she said; there was a poorly concealed smile hidden in the corners of her lips.

“I’m not a very forgiving person, love. Best remember that.”

It didn’t take much to turn her into an absolute mess again - just a few minutes of light, teasing strokes, enough to be maddening, not enough to eventually bring a release. Her cheeks were flushed and she was biting her lip and squirming as she sat with her head bowed; he made her count the strokes, he made her watch helplessly as he was slowly playing with her.

“Did you count?” he asked her eventually, pausing for a moment; the tip of the soaked brush rested under her pink nub.

“Nine hundred… Ninety… Five.” she breathed out; he wondered if it’s a real number, or one she made up on spot.

(Obviously, _he_ hadn’t been counting _anything_.)

“Mmm.” he muttered. “So close to an even number… Maybe I should start from zero? What do you think?”

“No.” she said desperately, and he laughed.

“Alright.” he said, and she squinted, already sensing a trap. “Just five more then. And then…”

“And then _what_?”

“We’ll see.” he mused, resuming the slow strokes. “But I’m sure I’ll think of something, considering you still didn’t resort to begging.”

The last stroke was the longest - a slow spiral, ended with a flick. Charlie arched her back - but didn’t say _please_.

It seemed like she had gotten a lot more resilient during that month; good. The longer it’d take for him to break her the better; both because he craved her company _and_ because he simply enjoyed toying with her body like this.

His fingers were what made her crack; he gently rolled her clit between his fingertips in a steady, slow pace, almost no pressure, just a ghostly touch.

 _That_ made her beg.

“What was that?” he asked softly, taking his hand away. “Care to repeat?”

“Please!” she said, writhing in frustration. “I’m about to _explode_! Pretty fucking please!”

(He loved making people beg; after having everything stolen from him, people had to ask if they wanted _anything_ from him.)

“See? That wasn’t so hard.” he snickered, as if it didn’t take him a whole day to get her to the breaking point. “But a question remains… _What_ are you asking for?”

He was sure that if it wasn’t for her hands being tied to her body she’d probably strangle him.

“For you to make me cum, you _prick._ ” she finally said, squirming. “ _Now_. Please.”

“Here’s what’s going to happen.” he said quietly, looking her in the eye; she was breathing heavily and her eyes were slightly hazy. “First I’m going to go down on you - and _maybe_ let you come. Maybe. Then I’m going to fuck your brains out, you sweet thing.”

“Perfect.” she panted out, already spreading her legs wider for him, pushing her hips towards him; he smiled and lowered his head and soon they both lost themselves - she was lost in the sensation of his tongue and his lips, and he was lost in her needy moans and her sweetness.

He was going to push her over the edge, since he _loved_ hearing the sounds she was making when having an orgasm, and he loved the way she arched her back and bucked her hips; but then he heard her pained yelps, followed by her frantically repeating her safeword over and over again.

Turned out - one of her calves got cramped and it hurt like a motherfucker, to quote Charlie herself.

“Piece of SHIT!” she practically screamed as he was massaging her leg; back in the day he got those all the time. The best way of dealing with it was to wait for it to pass. “God!”

“Such foul mouth.” he snickered; Charlie banged her fists against the desk in frustration. “Better?”

“Yeah.” she breathed out. “I’m still frustrated though.”

“So, do you want me to keep going, or-”

“Yes!” she interrupted him hastily and he laughed.

Moments later she was arching her back; her legs were trembling and she didn’t make any sound. Or maybe she did - but it was so intense it came out as open-mouthed silence instead.

She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him closer as soon as he untied her arms; her eyes were still hazy and her breath was shaky.

“I’m not finished.” she said, her voice both firm and trembling at the same time. “Sit down.”

And he obliged, both amused and fascinated by this sudden shift in the dynamic; he didn’t have much time to think, but during those few moments something became crystal clear to him.

_I wouldn’t mind her taking control more often._

But he didn’t quite have time to ponder on that; before he knew it she was riding him in his chair and his hands were on her breasts and the air was filled with their satisfied gasps and moans and he kissed her neck and her shoulders and his heart ached, ached, ached.

_Well, fuck._

 


	3. Chapter 3

She realized she’s starting to develop feelings for him about a month into their arrangement - even though god knows when did the feelings actually began. Maybe they began the moment she realized their existence - or maybe they were there from their first conversation.

She wasn’t sure - and frankly, she’d rather not think about it.

It didn’t feel _bad,_ this thing she was feeling - but it also didn’t feel particularly _great_. After Harry, after Krill - it was a relief of sorts, finding out that one heartbreak’s not enough to take the capacity to love away from her.

But the thing was - Oswald Cobblepot didn’t seem to be particularly interested in changing their dynamic. He didn’t even want her to know what does he do for a living - and even when someone posted a photo of them during their celebratory dinner at Lafontaine’s he only gave her the scarcest details. She had to look everything up by herself - and it wasn’t a challenge, considering Oswald gave his fair share of interviews. At first reading them felt like an invasion of privacy - but it made no sense, considering _he_ gave this story out himself.

It was still kind of vague - and there were holes, holes he wasn’t too eager to fill. It’s not like anyone _expected_ him to know the whole story - he was a kid when his mother was locked up and his father died. The exact details were long gone - but he knew enough to be sad and to not repeat the mistakes of his parents.

And yet - Charlie had a feeling Oswald knows more than he says he does. It was just a hunch, based on loose correlations; two of the most powerful men in Gotham died around the time Oswald showed up. And Oswald himself admitted to having something on Bruce Wayne - some sort of leverage.

At first, she didn’t mind Oswald’s secrets - it was his life, after all. His secrets had nothing to do with their arrangement - and no one bothered her after seeing her in a restaurant with him.

But eventually, after a few sessions, followed by aftercare… She _did_ begin to mind.

***

He had remarkable eyes - clear and grey and piercing. In dimmer light they appeared darker, almost black - and he often looked at her in a puzzling way she couldn’t quite figure out. There was playfulness in this gaze, and amusement, and promises she knew damn well he’s going to keep; but sometimes it would get softer and more tender, for a split second. It happened when she tripped or stuttered or hurled invectives at him - this brief, soft spark. Maybe she reminded him of someone? She wish she knew - because she felt it might not exactly be about _her_.

(Her experience with Alexander Krill didn’t take the ability to love away from her - but it did make her doubt her own lovability.)

And with this odd thing in his eyes, and with how nice it felt when he washed her hair or made her tea, and how _good_ it felt when he called her _love_ \- she’d sometimes find herself lost in ifs and maybes. Just fleeting fantasies and loose ideas - but eventually it started to appear in her dreams.

She had found a word for it during their first longer session - their first all-day one. All day with him in his luxurious flat, all day of him doing whatever he pleases to her - it was an exciting perspective, something to look forward to. He was a good match for her - and he learned to read her body fairly quickly. He was remarkably patient, and just a bit cruel, and relentless; he drove her crazy and she loved every minute, every stroke.

She realized her attraction and attachment is beyond sexual after he made her practice yoga with a vibrating knot between her legs. It was a very enjoyable day - even if the sensation of his fingertips on her breasts didn’t quite match the movie they were watching.

(She really liked _V for Vendetta_ ; in all its pretentiousness, and heavy reliance on coincidence - it was still a good story. She used to fantasize about someone like V stealing her away from the world; she always had a thing for dashing men in masks. As a child, she used to have _the_ biggest crush on Zorro - she could barely look at him without turning bright red or running out of the room.)

After the Krill Fiasco - to quote her father - Charlie promised herself to be vary of people who pay attention to little details in regards to her. Harry - Alexander - learned everything about her, in order to shape himself to her liking, to manipulate her; he was attentive and probably took notes of everything she did, said, thought. He learned every single detail - and she promised herself to be vary of people who seem to be paying too much attention. Maybe it was irrational, and maybe it meant not forming any close relationships with anybody for the next few years; but she decided it’s better to be safe than sorry.

Oswald remembered her throwaway comment from weeks ago; she jokingly confessed to getting off to _Fight Club_ more than once, since some scenes in the movie turned her on. There was something alluring in watching attractive, fit, half-naked men fight, covered in sweat - and he _remembered_. He actually remembered a lot of small things about her, mostly irrelevant to their contract; that she likes banana chips, so he always had some on hand for her to much on after taking a bath. That her favorite flavor of Powerade is - obviously - the red one, what shampoo she uses, that she can’t tell the difference between Coke and Pepsi, but would rather die than drink Coke Zero.

The realization that she doesn’t _mind_ him remembering all those things about her hit her like a ton of bricks as he was cuffing her to the bench - but she didn’t quite have an opportunity to dwell on that. The knot was pressing onto her underbelly, and the vibrations made it impossible for her to actually focus on anything other than her frustration - and she completely drifted away when Oswald started his own routine.

She was well aware of the fact he’s probably much stronger than he looks, and Fish assured her he’s quick and deadly - but that was the first time she saw any actual signs of it.

And good lord was it pleasant to look at.

There was something mesmerizing in the way his body moved - and she soon realized he’s actually showing off. Some more primal part of her found it _very_ attractive - and before she knew it there were moans and gasps escaping her lips as she lied there, completely unable to take her eyes off him and the way he moved.

One of the things she learned during her sessions with him - was to not try and muffle the sounds of her own pleasure. She had a habit of doing so, due to being kind of noisy - she first started as a teenager, when she was learning just how good can fingers in right places feel and her parents were asleep in the next room. And she never actually _stopped_ doing that, and none of her partners seemed to mind - but then Oswald happened.

“Are you _alive_?” he asked her once, back before the contract; she was sitting on a kitchen table and he was kneeling on the floor, his hands on her thighs, his tongue making her arch her back.

“What?” she asked feverishly; he rested his chin against her knee, looking up at her.

“You’ve been awfully quiet.” he pointed out. “And as you might have noticed - I’m _very_ self-absorbed. I like when people sing praises about me.”

“I don’t follow.” she muttered, trying to focus on his words, instead of what’s going on between her legs. “Y-you’re good. Why did you stop?”

“But why are you _quiet_?” he asked, cocking his head. “Come on, love, don’t be so coy.”

His fingers crept up her thigh, towards her center.

“Don’t be quiet.” he said quietly, gently stroking her clit. “Come on now. Sing for me.”

And she did. He liked when she was loud - so she happily obliged.

If it wasn’t for the handcuffs, she’d probably strangle him after he nonchalantly told her it’s fifteen more minutes for her. It was just her, and the damn knot, and her thoughts; and - even in her hazy state - she missed his presence greatly, as he was taking his sweet time in the bathroom.

(No one should be allowed to look this good after working out; no one should look this good while covered in sweat. Either he was a devil - or she wasn’t quite thinking with her brain.)

She offered to blow him even though she was well aware he _is_ going to take that damn thing off her - but she was feeling many things at once. Putting her thoughts and feelings into words - even to herself - was difficult in her state; and it also was an experiment of sorts. She wasn’t quite sure of _what_ is she trying to accomplish or prove with it - but it was an experiment nevertheless.

Absentmindedly she decided that Oswald is one of very few people whose dick in her mouth doesn’t make her want to either die or give up sex forever. Hell, it was actually enjoyable - maybe because he seemed to appreciate it.

(The sounds he was making made her feel something she couldn’t yet name.)

After he took the rope off her, she disappeared in the bathroom - and before she knew it there were tears streaming down her face.

“Well, fuck.” she muttered, letting the pleasantly cold water flow. “Shit.”

Her thoughts were still just a bit blurry - she wasn’t in shape for overthinking and overanalyzing. She felt good with Oswald around, and she didn’t mind him knowing a lot about her, and she enjoyed doing small, mundane things with him and she felt safe around him and she wanted to know more about him.

She wasn’t in shape for over-analyzing anything - there was only one possible conclusion, as told by the tears her eyes were still squeezing out.

***

When she first moved to Gotham, when she reached out to Fish Mooney - that was _not_ what she had wanted.

What she had wanted was a sexual journey - something with no emotional strings attached. What she got, however - was a slightly embarrassing crush on a man with mysterious past, who didn’t seem too eager to disclose any details to anyone.

Fish had a habit of calling her to ask how is her thing with Oswald going - and Charlie wondered if she does it with every arrangement she helped set up, or maybe if she only does it with first-timers. And up until that point of realization, Charlie only sang praises - but then Fish caught her off guard, as she was considering her options.

There were a few - she could pretend everything’s fine and dandy and wait for her feelings to potentially pass. She could cut ties with Oswald Cobblepot. She could also try and meet some new people - because she barely knew anyone in Gotham. Maybe it simply was something she called _Beauty and the Beast Syndrome -_ when one’s social options are heavily limited, the possibility of compulsively developing all kinds of attachments to all kinds of wrong people basically skyrockets. Beggars can’t be choosers, and so on - maybe her feelings for Oswald weren’t real. Maybe it came into existence because she felt the _need_ to feel something like this again - and he was around. Attentive and handsome and seemingly with no ulterior motives, even if the holes in his story were starting to occupy her thoughts more and more often.

Major Hill died around the time Oswald showed up in Gotham - and he said it himself, his deceased father had personal history with Hill. She was sure there was something connecting the Cobblepots to Falcone as well - but she had no means of finding out. And neither she wanted to; she wanted to know the story, yes - but she’d rather hear it from him, rather than dig it out.

She really was considering ending their contract when Fish called her.

“Yes, Fish, everything’s alright. I’m… Satisfied.” she said, hesitating for a moment; and naturally - Fish picked it up.

“You don’t _sound_ satisfied, girl. Do you need me to look for someone else to take care of you?”

“No!” she replied hastily. Changing partners was also on her list of options - perhaps it was time for her and Oswald to part ways, before things get messy. But she wasn’t ready to make that decision yet. “It’s… It’s not him, really. He’s…”

She paused for a moment, looking for the right word - the perfect word to describe…

The sense of safety, the warm tingling caused by his kisses, the pleasant warmth she felt when he held her face in his hands, the curiosity, the way she actually wanted _more_ of him in her life, the way her heart ached.

“He’s great.” she said softly. “Really.”

“Did he hurt you?”

The question - asked in a very serious tone - took her by surprise. The closest Oswald got to hurting her - be it by accident or not - was when he tied her up with rough rope; it left visible, red bruises on her skin, but she didn’t mind.

“No.” she said, not hiding her surprise. “I thought he’s a safe bet. Does he has a… History of violence?”

“He all sorts of does, actually.” Fish replied with a sigh. “Against people who wronged him, at least. But… You never know. Everyone’s unpredictable.”

“Well, that’s reassuring.” Charlie muttered. “Tell me more about it.”

“See, that’s the tricky part - I can’t. I’ve signed NDAs with everyone who seeks out my… Assistance.”

“Oh, right.” Charlie remembered, already going through one of her drawers, where she kept her more private documents.

Eventually she found a copy of what she signed with Fish; and just like she expected - there _was_ a loophole. Fish was allowed to breach the contract, if she decided one person’s secrets might pose a threat to someone else’s security; and Charlie wondered what was the exact story behind this point.

“But no, Oswald didn’t hurt me.” she eventually said, trying to imagine a scenario of him actually _hurting_ her - a slap, lean fingers choking her, a sharp bite.

It was an entertaining thought - even if it was also completely _not_ what Fish was asking her about.

(Simultaneously wanting someone to make you breakfast and call you _love_ while also wanting them to slam you against a wall and leave bite marks on your neck feels odd.)

They talked some more - and eventually Fish suggested it might be good for her to expand her experience a little. Not through changing partners - _there’s no reason to it, since you say he’s great, right? -_ but through simply meeting other people with preferences similar to hers.

At first - she was hesitant. She could always find some other people online - but if she had learned anything, it’d be the fact that people online are… Weird.

(To put it lightly.)

So eventually, she agreed - not because of Fish’s argument though. She simply wanted to see if her slowly developing feelings for Oswald Cobblepot are genuine, or imaginary; and she really hoped for them to turn out to be imaginary.

***

Fish got her in touch with a lovely lawyer-journalist couple; and it turned out Charlie already vaguely knew one of the women. Louise lived in the same building as Charlie, and they sometimes chatted in front of mailboxes in the hall; Louise seemed to be getting outrageous amounts of letters.

They met in Peperoncino, which seemed to be Fish’s go-to place to get people to get to know each other; and since it was a slow afternoon, eventually even the bartender joined them.

Which also meant both women found out about her arrangement with Oswald, as Jacques wasn’t exactly a great keeper of secrets - or maybe it simply was common knowledge.

So - she met some new people. And then some more. And no one else made her feel the way _Oswald_ made her feel; and it was truly, deeply, troubling.

It wasn’t a first time she had… _Developed feelings_ for someone else, obviously; but this was still a new situation for her. That was a first time she had a purely sexual, not-so-casual relationship with someone - and it seemed like she might not be a kind of person for this model of relationship. She was completely and utterly enamored with Oswald Cobblepot and his awful sense of humor and his every apparent secret and the way he made her feel both during sex and outside of - metaphorical - bedroom; and it didn’t pass after she let some new people into her life.

It felt a lot like a complete disaster - especially the fact he clearly didn’t trust her enough to reveal his secrets to her.

Fish Mooney clearly knew the truth, the whole story - but since it wasn’t putting Charlie’s life in danger, she wasn’t too eager to share those secrets with her. So she didn’t pry, hoping that - if ignored for long enough - her _problem_ will go away by itself.

***

It didn’t go away - because why would it? If anything, she was doing everything she could to make the situation even _worse_ for herself. She’d still fall asleep in his bed, and wear his bathrobe, and let him steal kisses from her; she’d talk to him about nothing and everything, careful to not pry, desperate for him to ask her questions about her own life - but he never did, seemingly only interested in things pertaining directly to this… Thing between them.

She often wondered how exactly does she look like through his eyes, how does she sound, what does he think of her as a person. She considered herself to be on the more decent side of morality; she was also well aware of her charms. She was pretty enough to be able to use it as an actual advantage, if needed - and Oswald was obviously attracted to her.

(His eyes on her skin often made her cheeks turn red.)

She tried not to pry, to ignore those burning sensations - but eventually, his secrets caught up to her.

***

“So, Sofia Falcone’s auctioning some of her father’s belonging off, and my usual plus one has three articles to write.”

Louise called Charlie one afternoon, then the latter was in the middle of getting groceries.

“And… _How_ did you get an invite exactly?” Charlie asked hesitantly. “You used to work under Dent. Wasn’t he technically Falcone’s sworn enemy?”

“Yes, but Sofia’s not exactly her father’s daughter. She claims she’s trying to close this particular chapter of her family’s history.”

“Hm. Who’s going to be there?”

“Everyone who matters, probably. It’s a big thing - Falcones going legit. Who knows, maybe even Oswald Cobblepot will grace the event with his humble presence.” she added sarcastically, and Charlie laughed nervously.

According to the evidence used by the police in the investigation regarding Carmine Falcone’s criminal empire and death, the late mafioso had plenty to do with whatever happened to Oswald’s parents - and his quiet daughter used to be friends with Oswald and Bruce.

From what Charlie gathered, Louise wasn’t aware of what was going on between Oswald and her; she seemed to not know him in person, and she certainly wasn’t aware of his preferences.

She accepted Louise’s invitation.

Like every big and important family, the Falcones owned a mansion - and it made sense, considering they were a _big_ family.

After Carmine’s death, Sofia - his only child - formally became the head of the family; and from what Charlie had hear - her cousins weren’t too pleased about the direction she wanted her family to take. For years, the Falcone family was the center of the rot plaguing Gotham - but Sofia claimed it’s time to start anew. Auctioning off her father’s belongings - his _trophies -_ seemed like a very drastic step to take; but perhaps the right one.

During the evening, Charlie met Bruce Wayne, who turned out to be as pleasant as the media painted him to be. She kept looking around, hoping to see Oswald in the crowd - but it seemed like he simply didn’t show up. She tried to mute her disappointment by asking herself what would she do if he _was_ there - they weren’t a couple. Sure, they were once seen dining together - but that was the last time they were seen together.

(Maybe he’d steal her away for a few minutes. She wouldn’t mind.)

It was a rather pleasant - even if slightly confusing - evening; but then Penguin showed up.

The mysterious, masked criminal was allegedly involved in the deaths of Carmine Falcone and Hamilton Hill; he also seemed to be at war with local arms dealers. It seemed like - above everything - he’s after money; he definitely wasn’t above stealing. Armed robberies and kidnappings seemed to be his default modus operandi; and it made a lot of sense for him to show up at Sofia’s auction, with some of the wealthiest citizens of Gotham all gathered in one building.

To make sure he has everyone’s attention, Penguin grabbed the nearest person - that person being Charlie and her rotten luck. He pulled her close and put his _gun_ to her head, as he - very nonchalantly - described in great detail what might happen to her if the other guests don’t cooperate.

He was wearing leather gloves; and he had strong arms, strong and lean. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine it’s actually someone else holding her; Oswald and Penguin were of very similar - if not nearly identical - build. And it looked like they have a similar taste in cologne.

Trying to limit her panic to a minimum, Charlie mused it wouldn’t be actually that bad, being in a similar - but preferably staged - situation with Oswald. She wouldn’t mind a little adrenaline; and _being kidnapped by a dashing criminal_ did sound like a fun roleplay idea.

“You’re being awfully quiet, love.” Penguin said to her, gently nudging her with his gun. “Usually at this point people break down and beg me to spare them. You, on the other hand… If I didn’t know any better I’d say you’re _enjoying_ this.”

“It’s my first time being held hostage.” she muttered in response. “So pardon me for _not_ knowing all the rules yet.”

He snickered; and it sounded awfully familiar.

“Oh, you’re a delight.” he stated. “Feisty. Tongue sharp like a razor.”

He put his gun away and lazily stroked the pendant she was wearing with his gloved fingers; it was the one Oswald gave to her after they signed the contract, a tear-shaped piece of benitoite, most likely worth a small fortune.

“This is a _very_ lovely trinket.” Penguin eventually said; his fingers moved onto her neck and she stopped breathing for a moment as he caressed her lightly.

(She wasn’t afraid anymore; she was more into it than she’d want to admit.)

“It suits you.” he eventually said. “I’m feeling merciful tonight. You can keep it… As a reward for being a lovely company.”

“Thank you.” she said breathlessly.

Penguin insisted she sees him and his men out - and no one argued, all eyes focused on his loaded gun.

Penguin was the last one to leave, watching his men slip out through the back door; and just before leaving - he turned around to face her, pulling his gun out. Before she could say or do anything - he pulled the trigger-

-and nothing happened, except for a sound muffled by the silencer.

“It’s loaded with blanks.” Penguin said, laughing quietly. “Till we meet again… _Charlie_.”

He turned around and left, and she stayed behind, frozen in place; did she give him her name? Or was he simply hyper-aware of everything going on in Gotham, of people moving in and out, money flowing in and out?

She heard him order someone - addressed to as _Kitty-Cat -_ drop something at the View; and she instantly snapped back to reality. _View_ was name of the building where Oswald resided; and considering the mysterious Penguin someone knew her name… She had a feeling she finally knows what is Oswald hiding from the world.

A chance to confront her suspicions came the very next night; they were supposed to have a session - and she intentionally showed up an hour early.

“Oh!” she said, pretending to be surprised. “Really? I was sure we talked about six.”

“No, no, it’s alright.” he said, letting her in; he brushed her hip with his fingertips. “I’m surprised you didn’t cancel. I’ve heard what happened yesterday.”

“This is precisely why I did _not_ cancel.” she said quietly, looking around his living room; she had put some thought into where to look. Her first instinct was his office - but that was too obvious. No, if Oswald had anything to do with the Penguin - he’d be smarter than to hide it in the most obvious place. He’d probably hide it in a place no one else would consider as a good hiding spot - in a plain sight, for example.

He once mentioned _The Phantom of the Opera_ is one of his favorite books - and she could see a bookmarked copy on a nearby coffee table. It was uncharacteristically thick - she was familiar with the book. Not enough to be able to recall the details - but enough to know it’s a rather short story. The copy on the table, on the other hand - looked more like a calendar.

Their session never happened - because Charlie was clever enough to figure out the book was not really a book, but not clever enough to come up with better circumstances for getting her hands on it. Maybe things would be different if she waited for him to fall asleep, or if she broke into his apartment, or if she just straight up stole it and read it at home - maybe.

As soon as he disappeared in the bathroom to take a quick shower - she grabbed the book and opened it.

It wasn’t a _book -_ it was a _notebook_ , adorned with a cover of one of _The Phantom_ ’s editions. That by itself wasn’t surprising - what was surprising were the contents. The notes.

Oswald’s handwriting was messy, and many parts were written in a code of sorts, so she didn’t really get much - but it was _enough_ , enough for her to draw a conclusion; Oswald was Penguin’s sponsor. It seemed to be a mutually beneficial partnership - Penguin got Oswald his position at Wayne Enterprises by digging out blackmail material on Bruce. In return, Oswald discreetly sponsored Penguin’s shady endeavors - and in the meantime Penguin took care of people who wronged the Cobblepot family.

It’d explain how did the criminal know her name; and maybe it also explained why did he pick _her_ as his hostage.

She wondered what else did Oswald tell him.

And then Oswald left the bathroom - and all hell broke loose.

“Give it _back_!” he demanded; he was absolutely furious. “You have no _right_ -”

“Oh, please!” she interrupted him, tightly pressing the notebook to her chest. “All this time - you’ve been working with _Penguin_?!”

“It’s none of your bloody business!”

He had her cornered - and he looked beautiful, as she realized with certain exasperation.

“Give it back.” he demanded quietly, taking a step in her direction; she didn’t move, staring at him in silence.

She recalled her brief fantasy from the last night, of him being more violent. She also recalled watching him work out, and what Fish told her about him being a formidable opponent. She wasn’t _scared_ \- not yet, at least. If anything - she was angry, and… Curious. Curious as to what might happen next. Curious as to what might he do to _her_ if she doesn’t oblige.

“Or what?” she asked him. “You’ll _hurt_ me? Send the Penguin after me?”

“I’m sure I’ll think of something.” he replied, his eyes dark; she was feeling uncomfortably aroused. Maybe it was her brain’s way of helping her deal with the stress - or maybe her tastes were even weirder than she originally thought. “Give me my notebook back, Charlie. Now.”

“Or?”

He didn’t answer, instead taking another step in her direction; and she tried to run, to dive under his arm-

-but he grabbed her by the back of her dress and pulled. She lost her balance; the notebook fell onto the floor, and Oswald pulled her close and pressed her arms to her body. She squirmed, trying to wiggle out of his grasp - but to no avail.

They argued. A lot. None of them watched their words - but especially not Charlie.

“How the fuck can you look at _this_ situation and see _yourself_ as a victim?! You’re a liar, a crook, a fucking thief! You _lied_ your way into Wayne Enterprises, to get a position you don’t _deserve_! You’re exactly the same as Krill!” she yelled; and he stared at her in silence. “At least Penguin _earned_ his reputation. You? You didn’t earn a single thing.”

“Bold words for a privileged rich girl, who had everything handed to her on a silver platter.” he said quietly; but she could see he’s slowly starting to lose his temper. “You’re just a spoiled _brat_ , and you have no FUCKING IDEA-”

“But at least I’m honest!” she interrupted him; he angrily hit a nearby bookshelf with his fist.

“Honest?!” he repeated mockingly. “And do your New York friends know about what you _like_?”

“Oh, so now _I’m_ the bad guy?!”

“You lie-”

“Yes, but I don’t _steal_! I don’t send a fucking _hitman_ after someone who _wronged_ me!”

“Oh, how _noble_ of you!” he said mockingly. “Get the fuck out, Charlie. Go to the police, I don’t care. No one’s going to believe you anyway.”

“No one’s going to _care._ ” she said; it was a mistake.

He pushed her against the wall, and she gasped quietly; he held her wrists in his iron grip and looked her in the eye and he was _furious_ \- and she suddenly felt the urge to kiss him, or to provoke him further, to make him _hurt_ her.

“You said it yourself!” she continued, pretending to be unbothered by his breath on her neck and his gaze almost burning her skin. “Gotham doesn’t give a flying fuck about you anymore. Maybe I _will_ go to the police.”

“You wouldn’t _dare._ ”

“And why’s that?” she said mockingly. “Because you might send _Penguin_ after me? Please do. At least _he_ can prove he’s _worth_ something.”

He tightened his grip, and it felt like he’s going to crush her bones; but suddenly he let her go.

“Get out.” he said shortly, looking at her impassively, coldly. “We’re done.”

“Yes. Yes, we are.” she agreed, feeling a choking lump in her throat; of course she ended up developing feelings for yet another crook. And of course the confrontation only lead to an ugly ending. “Goodbye, Oswald.”

Only once she was back home the full realization hit her - and the first thing she felt… Was shame.

_I didn’t even let him explain. I just… Called him worthless. Great fucking job, Charlie._

***

She considered calling him, talking to him, trying to fix things - but she didn’t. She did call him worthless - but he was still a liar, a crook, a petty, self-centered individual. No wonder he wasn’t eager to talk about his actual life - the facade fell apart as soon as she touched it. His ivory tower turned out to be a sandcastle; and she wondered exactly how much of his sob story was actually true.

(Why did he send the Penguin after Falcone and Hill?)

She didn’t go to the police - she knew no one would believe her anyway. She had no proof, was an outsider and was seen with Oswald Cobblepot in public; the narrative of _hell hath no fury like a woman scorned_ was practically writing itself.

Some people claimed that the deaths of Falcone and Hill and Harvey Dent’s landslide election victory brought Gotham a lot of good; and from what she had gathered - it was mostly correct. But Oswald - Oswald was a liar. Not at all better than Harry Spencer, not at all better than Alexander Krill.

She kept telling herself that - but something didn’t feel right.

(Somehow she felt as if she might be willing to overlook everything; somehow cutting him out didn’t make her feel good.)

When Fish asked her about the abrupt ending of her arrangement with Oswald - she said it was due to _ideological differences._ No, he didn’t hurt her (it was her who did the hurting). No, she’s not interested in finding anyone else for the moment (since she felt no one will be able to fill the gaping hole he left).

The next month was very dull - she missed Oswald greatly. Not just because of sex; she simply missed his very presence, his voice, his squinty-eyed smile, his slightly over the top, theatrical mannerisms.

(But yes, sex was also a factor; she missed his tongue and his touch and the way he’d keep her from crossing the edge for hours, just to make her beg. And begging him to give her release - it felt _good_.)

But eventually - after a month - she decided it might be a good idea to at least try to move on. Yes, Oswald meant to her more than she ever told him he does - but technically speaking, they weren’t a couple. They weren’t even _friends_ \- they simply had sex from time to time. Nothing more.

(And nothing less; she enjoyed the intimacy of his skin against hers, the vulnerability of being tied up.)

Vicki Vale - one of the young women Fish introduced her to - seemed to be very determined to get Charlie to partake in something called _the Auction_.

“It’s fun! That’s how I met Lou.” she added. “It’s a great way of meeting new people!”

“I dunno.” Charlie muttered hesitantly. “What’s like… The general idea?”

“It’s a consensual bdsm auction.” Vicki said nonchalantly and Charlie briefly choked on her milkshake. “I know, I know, it sounds _bad -_ but Fish’s fixated on consent. People auctioning themselves off even get to pick who gets to place the highest bid on them. I’m the reason this rule is in place.” she added with a sour smile. “One guy was _very_ determined to win me, and I had to break character and explain what a _lesbian_ is to him.”

“And… Did he understand?”

“That didn’t quite work, no. But hey, all’s fine that ends fine. You _really_ should try it.” Vicki repeated. “It’s fun! Who knows who might be interested in buying a night with you.”

“Let’s say I’m interested.” Charlie said cautiously. “So. How does it work?”

Vicki’s face lit up; she eagerly started to explain the mechanics of Fish’s auction - and Charlie was very glad the cafe they were at seemed to be having a slow day. They were the only customers in the room; and staff seemed to genuinely not care about their conversation.

“First Fish accepts the participants. Then the paying ones get a list of the _merchandise -_ and they pick the ones they’re interested in. _Then_ Fish sits down with everyone who’s going to be auctioned off and they go through the list of bidders interested in them. And basically you just pick a person you want to be _bought_ by. Also there’s some larping involved.” Vicki added, and Charlie nodded slowly. “It all plays out like something super illegal, some people get whipped on stage… Ever read a bad tumblr bdsm story about a pleasure gallery?”

“It happened more often than I feel comfortable admitting. It’s not _my_ fault other people with my kinks are weird.” she added defensively, seeing Vicki’s amused look. “But yeah. I know what you mean.”

“So yeah. It might happen. You might charge your bidder extra for it.”

“And where do the money go?”

“Wherever you want them to.” Vicki said with a shrug. “Fish takes a big share, since, you know, she’s organizing everything. She puts it to a good use though.”

“What about people who _work_ at the Iceberg though?”

“It’s a night off for them, even though some of them _do_ show up - as bidders. One year one of the guys surprised his favorite customer by bidding on him. I think they’re getting married soon.”

“That’s cute, actually.”

“Yep! So, my point is - you might meet someone _incredible_ this way. How did things end between you and your last dom?” Vicki asked and Charlie sighed, looking away.

“Badly.” she said hesitantly. “He was hiding lots of stuff from me, and I kind of… Didn’t think everything I’ve said through.”

“Oh _boy._ What was he hiding from you? A fetish even darker than bdsm? Was he into… _Vore_?”

“He was hiding _everything_ from me.” she said with a forcibly nonchalant shrug. “Our arrangement was never about our personal lives, so… He never disclosed any details.”

Eventually - Charlie agreed to bid herself off during the auction.

Fish seemed to be rather pleased about it.

“Wonderful!” she exclaimed. “This means I have a full set. You’re a lifesaver, darling.”

And so the preparations began - which meant Charlie had a whole lot of questions to answer. Yes, she could bear being touched while on stage - but whipping was off the table. Or caning, or flogging.

“I might take a slap or two though.”

“How do you know? Did you try it out with-”

“No.” she interrupted Fish quickly. “No, I didn’t. But… It can’t be _that_ bad.”

“You’d be surprised how much can a single slap hurt.” Fish said quietly. “But it’s alright, since I know how to _fake_ a slap. Did you pick your highest bidder yet?”

The man she picked was rather handsome - in a way that was difficult to describe. His face looked like a peculiar combination of Oswald’s sharp, bird-like features with more classic, smooth masculinity of Bruce Wayne; he had pleasant smile and very calm eyes. His list of preferences was rather brief, and partially aligned with what she knew Oswald likes - and the rest of it sounded like it had lots of potential to actually be pleasant.

“Oh, he’s going to be _delighted._ You had the highest rank on his list.”

“And how did I rank in general?”

“Not great.” Fish admitted, and Charlie laughed. “You’re a newcomer. You’re pretty, yes - but you’re also… Inexperienced.”

“Well, here’s to hoping our lucky guy will like me. Hell - maybe I’ll sign a contract with him.”

“Yes.” Fish nodded, the corners of her lips curling in a mysterious, puzzling smile. “Maybe you will.”

***

She didn’t sign the contract with her bidder. In fact - she didn’t even get to _meet_ him.

The auction was going smoothly; and Charlie was waiting backstage for her turn on the stage, already covered in glitter. She was feeling nervous - she was about to walk out of the room she shared with other auctioned girls wearing nothing but her underwear, a pair of heels, a collar and handcuffs. Her role was one of _a docile, sweet thing, one used to being admired and adored, a sweet delight_.

Finally the previous bidding ended, and Fish came into the room.

“Charlie, it’s your turn. You still up for this?”

“Yeah.” she said nervously, glancing at Fish; she looked _incredible,_ all clad in crimson leather and lace, her face covered with a simple mask.

Fish helped her with her collar and cuffs; the cuffs were connected to the collar and kept Charlie’s hands bent behind her back. Once everything was in place - Charlie had to walk with her head high and her back slightly bent backwards, to avoid the unpleasant, choking sensation. It was a bearable position; but most importantly - it made her appear proud, as well as expose her breasts.

The lights were set up in such a way that from a certain spot on stage, it would be impossible to see the details of anything happening in the audience - and it was the exact spot where Charlie was instructed to stand.

She only had to stand in one spot, and look pretty - and she did just that, listening to people bidding for her. She was trying to guess which of the voices belongs to the man she picked - eventually she decided it’s probably the one sounding like silk. It was pleasant; but it didn’t really make her _feel_ anything.

(Oswald’s voice, on the other hand… She liked it _a lot_. Just a bit breathy, just a bit raspy, very slightly nasal; he could do wonders to her with his voice alone.)

And suddenly - an unexpected guest showed up.

“Make it double!” Penguin announced, and she blinked. “Yes, you heard me. Double the highest offer.”

Fish Mooney didn’t seem to be surprised by his presence.

“It’s a lot of money, Penguin.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m a rich man, isn’t it? Besides… I’m not the one paying anyway.”

“The last word is hers anyway.” Fish said with a shrug, pointing at Charlie. “I don’t know, Penguin. She already chose her bidder.”

“Yes!” her bidder said with annoyance. “She _did._ And it’s _me_. Why hadn’t anyone call the police?”

“Probably because no one’s eager to admit to being on a bdsm auction.” Penguin replied nonchalantly. “Come on, girl. The decision’s yours.”

“Why are you here, Penguin?” she asked him, suddenly feeling much more into the whole situation than few minutes earlier. “Was the thought of me half-naked and handcuffed really keeping you awake?”

The masked criminal laughed; and his laughter sounded so, so familiar, even despite the voice-altering device built into his mask.

“Maybe.” he eventually said. “Come on. Give me a _yes_ or _no._ ”

“Yes.” she said quickly. “You can join the auction.”

“This is outrageous.” her original bidder complained. “I want my money back.”

“Sorry, darling, but the entry fee’s non-refundable.”

Penguin placed the highest bid on her - and his very presence filled her with pleasant warmth. She was very, _very_ curious as to what expect - if maybe _this_ was what Gotham truly had in store for her. Maybe the clever criminal fell in love with her, but was afraid of Oswald?

So many maybes - and all of them exciting.

Afterwards, she was taken to a room downstairs; as she - and her lucky buyer - were walking away she could hear her would-be companion argue with Fish.

Once it was just the two of them, Penguin pointed at a nearby bed.

“You might want to sit down.” he said; and she did, looking around. The room was equipped with _everything_ that could come in handy - there were cuffs. Toys. Hooks. Wooden frames. A wooden horse.

“I’ve bought a night’s worth of your time.” he said, sitting down on the surface of a nearby table. “But I can’t help, but wonder… _What_ pushed you to do this thing? It’s borderline sex work, you know.”

“Curiosity.” she said lightly. “I’ve tried the darker side of sexuality, and I liked it. Why not take it a few steps further?”

“You nearly bit off more than you can probably chew.” he said, not moving; there was something oddly appealing in the combination of his suit, mask and the equipment that surrounded him. “The man you _picked_ as your buyer… You wouldn’t like half the stuff he was going to do to you.”

“H-how do you know?”

“I like to know everything about everyone.” he said quietly. “I have means of knowing everything I want to know, everything I _need_ to know. That’s how I pushed Hamilton Hill to suicide, that’s how I’ve lead Carmine Falcone into a trap… Knowledge is power.”

“Sure.” she said, laughing nervously. “And… Why are you suddenly confessing to your crimes? To me, of all people?”

“A little bird told me you… _Admire_ my accomplishments.” he said calmly. “As opposed to the fact Cobblepot lied his way to the top, using blackmail material I got on the Waynes. A little bird told me all sorts of things about you.” he added quietly.

He got up, and walked up to her; her heart was pounding in her chest, and she was trembling from excitement.

Penguin raised her chin with his gloved fingers; he gently brushed her neck with his other hand, lightly tapping the spot above the crevice between her breasts.

“Who would you rather have, Charlie?” he finally asked. “As your lover. Penguin? Or Oswald?”

“Why are you asking?” she asked, slightly taken aback; he brushed her bottom lip with his thumb.

“Curiosity.” he replied. “Come on. Tell me the truth.”

“Is _both_ an acceptable answer?” she said, without thinking. “A dashing rogue _and_ a prince charming. Oswald said it himself - I’m _spoiled._ I want it all.”

“It’s incredible just how honest people can be when wearing a collar and handcuffs.” Penguin said calmly, brushing her lip again. “You want it all, you want both me and him… What a funny coincidence.”

He took a step back - and took his mask off, quickly dealing with buckles and clasps at the back on his head.

“Because, darling… We come as a joint package of sorts.” Oswald said with a wide grin as Charlie stared at him in complete and utter disbelief.

Suddenly, she felt very, _very_ dumb.

 _Oh goodness, a penchant for animal metaphors! I think I have just the right person for you…_  
Tongue sharp like a razor.  
Till we meet again… Charlie.

“Oh my fucking _god._ ” she eventually breathed out. “I… Wow.”

“That’s a very common reaction, yes.” Oswald said, sounding amused; suddenly everything made perfect sense.

But the weirdest part was - he didn’t seem to be angry.

“At least now I know I appear to be _very_ non-threatening. If your first thought was that Penguin’s a completely separate person…”

“Can we be a thing again?” she asked, not giving herself even a second for doubts. “Can we sign another contract?”

Seeing him again, _hearing_ him again - it felt…

It actually felt incredible, even though only a month had passed since she stormed out of his apartment. Suddenly, nothing else mattered; not the auction, not her would-be company for the night.

“And I’m sorry about what I’ve said.” she added quickly. “About you being worthless. And basically the same as Krill. And-”

“No, you were right.” he interrupted her. “Except I didn’t try to con a naive girl out of her money. Instead I’m conning a corporation owned by my childhood friend. Same difference.” he added with a shrug. “The one thing that makes me better than Krill? I’m _smarter_. But a crook, not at all qualified to run a corporation? That part’s right. I’m not _qualified -_ but I know how to make it _look_ like I am.”

He talked _a lot -_ and she enjoyed every single word.

(She was head over heels with him.)

“So, no hard feelings. And… I’d apologize for pushing you against a wall, but I’m not going to. I’ve read your body language.” he added with a wink. “And I know you _liked_ it. Don’t lie.”

“I wasn’t going to. You look… Hot when you’re pissed.”

“ _You_ look hot when you’re aroused by what should be terrifying.” he said nonchalantly. “God, I’ve missed you. Do you really want to sign another contract?”

“Yes.” she said, without hesitation; he said he _missed_ her.

“It can be arranged.” he said with this squinty-eyed smirked she started to like so much. “But, actually…”

“Yes?”

“How about making it full-time?” he asked quietly, not taking his eyes off her. “Full-time, live-in.”

This sounded too good to be true; if her hands were free - she’d pinch herself. First their absolutely seamless, perfectly bumpy reconciliation; and now _this._

“Oh fuck yes.” she said breathlessly, and he snickered. “But what about… Tonight? You bought a night with me, I’m in handcuffs…”

He laughed quietly, and her heart skipped a beat.

“I have a business meeting in the morning.” he finally said. “And you’re _covered_ in glitter. Also my gloves have to stay on, otherwise… Fingerprints. Fingerprints everywhere.”

“Oh.” she said sadly; but he winked at her.

“Cheer up, buttercup. I’m still going to make a good use of the time I’ve bought.”

He took the collar and the cuffs off her - slowly, carefully, avoiding getting the glitter on anything that wasn’t his gloved hands.

“We’re going to play _red light, green light._ ” he said quietly. “Don’t look so happy about it. I’ve paid for an entire night.”

“Oh, no.” she said, not even trying to hide her smile. “Oh, poor, poor me.”

“Poor you indeed.” he agreed; and under his gaze, she nearly melted. “Poor, poor you.”

It was a long night for her - but she didn’t mind.

 


	4. Chapter 4

That was easily the weirdest argument he ever had in his life, followed by an even weirder aftermath.

Initially, he meant everything he said - about her being a liar as well, about not wanting to see her ever again. And he knew she’s _right -_ he really was a thief and a liar. That’s how he built Penguin’s entire reputation; stealing and lying. Sure, this time he lied to get something that was - more or less - rightfully his; but he saw her point.

More or less, at least.

(He was self-absorbed enough to consider his position as _rightfully his -_ but not self-absorbed enough to consider it _earned_. He didn’t earn shit; he lied and deceived. It didn’t feel bad.)

It was complicated and messy - just like he. And he was good at reading people - it was obvious she’s trying to provoke him.

But he didn’t let her; instead he threw her out and locked himself in his flat, trying to untangle the gordian knot of his emotions. He actually had to sit down and draw diagrams and tables in order to find his way out of this bizarre situation - that was not the outcome he was going for when he (rather impulsively) decided to try and lead Charlie towards his secret.

(He was _damn_ good at reading people; and eventually, he figured her problem with Krill out. She was a very self-centered person; her problem was with what he wanted to do to _her_. He broke her heart - _her_ heart, without as much as a mention of his other victims.)

He planned it all out - but he didn’t as much as consider the possibility of her not being immediately on board with everything. Perhaps he overestimated her attraction to him; perhaps he underestimated her morals. But, nevertheless - something went terribly wrong and he was left… Heartbroken, actually. He hoped to entice her, to draw her to him, by revealing his dark truth to her - and it went _bad_.

(He didn’t really give a shit about Gotham caring or not about him anymore.)

And for a while - he avoided the topic with Fish.

“What the hell happened?!”

“I’ll tell you if you tell me _why_ were you repeatedly asking her how is it going.” he said tiredly, angrily. “I know you don’t trust me, Fish.”

“You killed Falcone. It’s kind of… Difficult for me to just blindly trust you.” Fish said dryly.

“I _freed_ you from him.”

“I didn’t need your help, Oswald, I was doing just fine without you. _We_ were doing just fine. I don’t _owe_ you anything - especially not my trust.”

Heavy silence fell between them; eventually Fish sighed.

“You’re a sweet boy, Oz.” she finally said. “Very sweet and very, _very_ rotten. You spoil everything you touch. Of _course_ I was worried about a girl I sent your way. And look - I was right.”

“It’s not _my_ fault you found that one person who seems to appreciate Penguin more than…”

He paused for a moment; Fish watched him attentively.

“More than _what_?” she eventually asked. “More than _you_? Oh, Oswald. No. Don’t do this.”

“Jesus.” he muttered, rubbing his temple. “I know, I know. I _am_ the Penguin. But the thing is… I think I _forgot_ , Fish. For a moment, I… Forgot.”

“Stop trying to divide yourself, Oswald. We all have something we hide from the others.” she said, sounding very tired. “But it doesn’t mean we’re creating a whole separate person in the process. Oswald Cobblepot and Penguin - are one and the same. Those two sides of you - one wouldn’t exist without the other.”

“Gee, miss Freud, thanks.” he muttered, and she scoffed.

But Fish was right - perhaps it was time to reunite Oswald and Penguin, after spending months on putting a clear divide between them. And - he knew _just_ how to start.

***

He enlisted Fish and Vicki to help him get back into Charlie’s good graces; and much to his surprise… It actually worked. All it took was a short conversation - and it felt like she had never left. He was kind of close to actually… Admitting to his feelings, there, at the Iceberg - but he didn’t. He wasn’t going to push his luck; so instead he - impulsively - suggested becoming a full-time thing.

And she _agreed_. From her tone, and her eyes, and her posture - he deduced she might be, after all, more interested in Penguin; but it didn’t matter. They were one and the same anyway; he could give in to her more undisclosed desires.

(Her reaction to being held at the gunpoint as he crashed Sofia’s auction to turn everyone’s attention away from the fact that at this very moment, Catwoman is stealing the Cobblepot family memorabilia stored upstairs was intriguing; there was no fear to it, just eager anticipation.)

This whole situation was odd - but he wasn’t going to complain. He learned to not nitpick at good things happening to him; and he was eager to put this whole thing behind him as soon as possible. To simply have her in his life again was more than enough - because his _feelings_ didn’t fade away. There wasn’t much to it - he was in love, plain and simple. Could happen to everyone - and he was still just a human. A very rich, deeply fucked up one - but still. Human.

It was because of her hair and her eyes and her freckles and her lips and her voice and her laughter and the way she bucked her hips and the way she looked when she was falling asleep and the way she’d stretch after waking up. One day, when he was feeling moody, he tried to sit down and list everything; he gave up after five pages, Calibri size eleven, line spacing - one dot zero; and she was about to _move in_ with him. The list would probably get very long very soon.

He reached out to her two days after their sudden reconciliation at the Iceberg, to ask if she still stands by her decision; and she said _yes_.

“We’ll need to establish a whole new set of rules and limits, you know. You’ll have to _move_ here.”

“Yes, Oswald, I’m well aware of how _moving_ works.” she said, laughing quietly. “You have a room you’re not using, right?”

“Right. It could be… _Your_ room. Where you go if you want to be outside of the contract.”

“Should we really be doing this over the phone? Aren’t you in the office?”

“Not only I’m in the office, I also have you on the loudspeaker.” he said proudly, and she laughed again; he very much enjoyed hearing her laughter. When she laughed at what he said - somehow he knew it’s not forced by fear, or politeness, or greed. And he liked it even more when she laughed _at_ him. “So… Be decent.”

“I’m _always_ decent. You’re the one who suddenly makes jokes about how _sweet_ I am.” she scoffed. “What about publicity though?”

“Well, you said it yourself - Gotham doesn’t _care_ about me anymore.” he said lightly; she scoffed. “Hey, that was a _fact_. I’m not in the spotlight anymore. It’s all Bruce’s again.”

“Yes, but… What if someone _notices_ something? That someone moved in with you?”

“I actually have a solution for this.” he said cautiously. “Check your email, I’ve shared a contract draft with you. It’s on… Page three? Yeah, three.”

“Hold on… Oh!” she said; she sounded surprised and he anxiously tapped at the surface of his desk with his fingertips. “Y… Yeah. This could work.”

“You can propose changes, you know.” he said, feeling a lump in his throat. “If you’re not comfortable with me introducing you as my _partner_ -”

“No, no!” she interrupted him. “It’s… Fine, really. Not really a lie. It’s more like… A half-truth.”

“Exactly.” he said, feeling slightly relieved. “Anyway. Review it, make some changes…”

“First of all I’m going to deal with your _abhorrent_ usage of commas.” she muttered; and seconds later, he saw her changes live on the Google Drive file. “Second of all… Is this really the norm?”

“What do you mean?”

“You taking over seventy percent of my life. Is this the norm?”

“That’s part of the appeal. Freedom is a norm… So naturally, people suddenly find it appealing to give _away_ their freedom.”

“Yeah, that makes sense.” she said and he could practically _hear_ her rolling her eyes. “Are you really into it? Making someone’s decisions for them?”

“I’ve always wanted to see how it feels.” he said, thinking back to his mother, stripped from her right to make her own decisions. “To have absolute power over someone.”

“It’s not really _absolute_ if it stops the moment I say _krill_. But you know what? I’m game.”

“Wait, really?”

“Of course! Isn’t it an adult dream? To have someone _competent_ take over your life and your decisions? Normally people settle for a personal assistant, or a life coach - I’m going the _dom_ route. Make my decisions for me! ...just as long as you let me have my Domino’s hot dog crust pepperoni.”

“Write it down then.”

They went on like this for about an hour; Charlie seemed to be completely unbothered by the fact she’s going to abandon her spacious flat for the sake of sharing space with him. The perspective of seeing her half asleep and groggy more often - _every day,_ actually - filled him with weird joy.

***

She was _very_ amused by the fact they have to make a shopping trip to a sex shop.

“I want _you_ to pick the stuff we’re going to use. Also, don’t make this face, you _know_ I usually went to the Iceberg and used _their_ equipment.”

“I’m serious! Alright, alright, I’ll come. Got any specific place in mind?”

“The Tin Roof. Fish buys there.” he added. “The owner’s a pro. And their catalogue… You could probably kill someone with it. And this week there’s a sale on cooling lube, after people stormed their obgyns after putting toothpaste on their clits.”

“...please don’t put toothpaste on _my_ clit.”

“Charlie, darling, the only way I’m getting toothpaste _anywhere_ near your clit will be if I go down on you after brushing my teeth. And that’s a promise.”

“I’ve also read about people using hot sauce.”

“And some people like to put skinned ginger up their arse. Doesn’t mean it _should_ go there.” he said with a meaningful wink; and she rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. Somehow _figging_ found its way onto her _would like to try_ list of things - and he had no idea how could this happen, considering it was a combination of two things she did _not_ like: excruciating pain and wasting food.

So, they made a shopping trip to the Tin Roof, a shop owned by Holly Robinson; a renowned - and retired - pro-domme, who made it her goal in life to make sure people of Gotham at the very _least_ have safe kinky experiences.

It was one of those places most people didn’t even notice, since they had no idea it’s there - located at the outskirts of the rich part of Gotham, with rather inconspicuous neon sign and big, perfectly clean windows, offering a clear view into the brightly lit, minimalist hall. The shop proper was located behind another door; the front desk was a place for people to pick up their pre-ordered packages.

Charlie’s jaw dropped as soon as they entered the shop; and it was, frankly, a very understandable reaction. Every item from the catalogue was on display; it was a massive room filled with _everything_ , from modest vibrators, to imposing customized furnitures.

Holly Robinson nodded with satisfaction seeing Charlie’s reaction.

“Mister Cobblepot.” she said, shaking Oswald’s hand; she looked very _normal_ , almost bland, with her blonde bob and petite built - but then she smiled lazily, and suddenly Oswald felt _naked_. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“Miss Robinson.” he said with a nod, nervously fixing his tie. “This is-”

“I’m his partner.” Charlie interrupted him; she took a step forward. “And we’re here to buy… Oswald, what are we buying?”

“Whatever tickles your fancy.”

“A lot of stuff.” she said, rubbing her hands together; Holly nodded with approval. “I’m Charlie, by the way.”

“I’m going to skip my usual _are we on a budget_ spiel.” Holly said with a smirk. “Mister Cobblepot, since you’re the one paying… By default transactions are recorded as _counseling_. We can change it to anything else to suit one’s personal needs… Just as long as it’s legal.”

“You can say I’ve bought a yacht. Been meaning to do so for a while now, might as well make everyone think it finally happened.”

“A yacht it is then. So, let’s begin our tour…”

They’ve spent about three hours there - Charlie did most of the picking and choosing; Oswald mostly just followed with his hands in his pockets. He was a flexible person - he was sure he’s going to get along with anything she picks.

And - despite her earlier hesitation - she seemed to be having fun; she eagerly listened to Holly’s explanations and demonstrations - and Holly Robinson _did_ know her craft.

Finally - they made their way to the last section of the shop, the _restraints_ one. And at first - everything was going great. Charlie picked quite a lot of stuff; but then they reached end of the section and Oswald’s heart skipped a beat and suddenly he felt like he’s drowning. He couldn’t _breathe_ ; and all he could focus on was the loud hum in his ears. He could hear Charlie and Holly discuss various kinds of straight jackets; but he completely _forgot_ those are a thing. He was great at avoiding stuff that caused him discomfort; he spent many years completely avoiding the topic of the usage of straight jackets in sex.

He knew it’s dumb, he knew it’s not the same - same way calling one’s partner _daddy_ isn’t the same as actual incest. He was well aware - but rationality has nothing on panic attacks.

Oswald had a panic attack in the middle of a sex shop - because suddenly he remembered his mother and the person she used to be and the person she _became_ and he remembered _her_ straight jacket, and his nightmares, and soon everything merged into one and soon he had no idea if he’s seeing his mother or maybe Charlie begging for mercy.

***

He came back to his senses some time later; he was in Holly’s office at the back of the Tin Roof; he was laying on the floor and someone was holding his head on their lap and there were someone’s fingers in his hair; and for a moment, he had no idea where is he or what happened.

(But he felt at peace. Very tired - but at peace.)

“Bloody hell.” he muttered, slowly getting up.

“Are you alright?” Charlie asked, putting her phone away; she looked worried. “I mean, I know you’re not.”

“Well, I _seem_ to be in one piece.” he said, examining his hands; it seemed like he hurt himself with his own fingernails. And his eyes were burning; he probably cried. “Come on. Ask me some questions, so we can determine if we’re on the same plane of existence.”

“Uh… Who’s the current mayor of Gotham?”

“Dent.” he replied, rubbing his forehead with the back of his head. “And Ted Cruz is the Zodiac Killer. We’re at… The Tin Roof. My name’s Oswald Cobblepot.”

“Do you need… Water?” she asked, visibly avoiding his eyes. “Look, if you want to talk-”

“I don’t.” he said hastily; and he wasn’t sure if he means it. “Straight jackets… Are a hard _no_ for me.”

“I’m sorry.” she suddenly said. “I… I had no idea-”

“You had no _way_ of knowing. It’s fine, Charlie. I’m fine.”

He drank some water and washed his face; he didn’t feel _fine -_ but at least he felt _stable_.

Holly joined them moments after.

“My apologies, mister Cobblepot. I wasn’t aware-”

“No one is.” he interrupted her; of course no one knew. Everyone knew about his mother going crazy, ending up in Arkham; but no one knew the ugly, painful details. Those details, the footage of what Thomas Wayne did - those were supposed to stay a secret. That was the deal between him and Bruce. “Let’s hope it stays that way.”

“Naturally. Are you in shape to review your purchase now?”

He took Holly’s tablet from her and scrolled through the list of things picked by Charlie. It was… Very comprehensive - ropes of differing textures, cuffs handmade to Charlie’s precise measurements, a collapsable wooden horse made of oak wood and copper, a set of vibrating clamps, Ben Wa balls, an immortal classic in the form of a Hitachi wand, a dildo, a riding crop - and a ball gag.

“Aw, a gag? How are you going to call me names with a gag in your mouth?”

“I’ll just look at you angrily and grumble.”

“Alright.” he said, handing the tablet back to Holly. “I think that’s it.”

And that _was_ it; the delivery was set to happen in a few days, once their order was completed. Now all that was left was for them to proceed; the guest bedroom at his apartment was already redecorated to suit Charlie’s personal tastes. She already moved half of her stuff to his place; the rest was ready to be picked up at any time.

“So.” he said after they left the shop. “Tomorrow… We begin.”

“What’s the plan for tomorrow again?”

“We’ll have a celebratory dinner at Lafontaine’s. You’ll look pretty, I’ll look handsome. Then we’ll part ways, and then… I’ll kidnap you.”

She laughed quietly, and he smiled lightly; it was all _her_ idea. She wanted their live-in contract to begin with a staged kidnapping; and he was happy to help.

“What about _today_ though?” she suddenly asked. “You… Don’t look good. I could come over. Make sure you’re alright.”

“That was not my first trigger-induced panic attack. I’d rather deal with it… Alone.”

Back home, he wore himself down in his gym; after a few hours he could barely stand on his own.

Last thing he thought about before falling asleep was the sense of safety, coming from his head in her lap and her fingers in his hair.

***

She looked beautiful during the dinner - and he almost forgot to _eat_ , he was too busy admiring her.

(To be honest, he was also busy fending off the thoughts of what was going to happen later the same night.)

“Are you trying to starve yourself?”

“You’re very distracting.” he retorted, taking a bite of his salad. “That pendant looks… Familiar.”

“Oh really?” she said with a light smile; she touched the pendant with her fingertips, the one he gave her. “This old thing? It was just laying around…”

“Ouch.” he snickered.

They drank some champagne; but not too much, since they had a long night ahead of them - and he had a small surprise up his sleeve, thanks to Holly Robinson.

Finally he drove her home; and she kissed him goodnight and acted as if he wasn’t going to show up on her doorstep in approximately half an hour.

Finally - the fun had began. Planning the entire thing out took him some effort; Charlie wanted to be kidnapped by Penguin - and she lived in a secure building. Eventually, he did figure out a way in and out that was just a one long blind spot; it’s not like Penguin could simply waltz into the building and break into one of the apartments.

 _Break_ was a big word; her doors weren’t locked, so he simply had to turn the knob; and he quietly slipped into her apartment.

“Good evening.” he breathed out as she was slowly standing up, trying to hide her excited smile. “Remember me?”

“Please, mister Penguin.” she pleaded, folding her hands theatrically. “Don’t hurt me!”

“ _Hurt?_ ” he said, taking a step in her direction. “Oh, darling. What I want to do to you… Is the exact opposite of _hurt_.”

She tried to escape; and he chased after her, both of them ridiculously careful, to not give her downstairs neighbors any wrong ideas. Eventually, he caught up to her; he pushed her against a wall and she turned her head, to avoid getting stabbed in the forehead with the beak of his mask.

“Oh, you look _beautiful._ ” he said quietly, tracing a line down her neck with the barrel of his (not loaded) gun. “You’ll make a delightful plaything.”

She bit her lip; he liked when she did that, even though sometimes she did that when lost in thought, which always resulted in bloody scabs.

He bound her wrists behind her back with a plastic zip tie; and he did so with utter disgust. He also gagged her with a piece of fabric; he tied it at the back of her head, after pushing it between her teeth.

“Not too tight?”

She shook her head vigorously.

The fire escape was just outside her window; he slipped outside and dragged her out. She whimpered mournfully when her bare feet touched the cold, wet metal; so he threw her over his shoulder, patting her ass lightly.

Luckily no one was outside - just like he predicted. He threw her onto the back seat of his car; and before starting the engine - he adjusted the rear mirror slightly.

“Having fun?”

She grumbled something in response, and he laughed.

The streets were nearly empty, and his car had dark windows; so the ride was uneventful.

Two things he was very thankful for were his private garage and his private elevator - both hooked to a separate cctv system, monitored by one of his more trusted men.

“Evening, Richter.” he said as he was carrying squirming Charlie to the elevator. “Don’t be alarmed, this lady’s consenting to everything.”

Charlie mumbled out something that sounded a lot like _hello, Richter!_.

Finally - they were in his flat. Oswald lead her to the living room, where her surprise was waiting; the wooden horse she picked - and a handful of other things from their order - arrived early, since Holly had them in stock; it meant he had to pay twice for the delivery - but it didn’t matter.

What mattered was her delighted face.

“At least _try_ to stay in character, wouldn’t you?” he asked, getting her out of the tie and taking the makeshift gag away.

“Sorry.” she said, trying to sound apologetic. “W-what now, mister Penguin?”

He sat down in his favorite chair, playing with his gun.

“Take this dress off.”

Her dress fell onto the floor and formed a dark puddle; she stepped out of it, glancing at him shyly.

“Come here.”

She stepped closer, and he took his mask off; she grinned and he couldn’t help but smile back from behind his mask.

She took off her bra and he raised his eyebrows and cocked his head.

“So eager.” he said quietly. “Come _closer._ ”

She sat down on his lap, facing him; he touched her bottom lip with the barrel of his gun and she kissed it lightly, not breaking eye contact.

“So you like to play with fire.” he mused, slowly dragging the gun down; across her neck, between her breasts, across her stomach, stopping just below her navel. “Do you?”

He started to slowly, gently circle her nipples with his gloved thumbs; and she closed her eyes and tilted her head.

“Yes.” she eventually breathed out.

“Such _honesty._ ” he snickered, taking his gloves off. “You like to play with fire, and you’re all at my mercy… Such a shame I’m not feeling merciful tonight.”

“No?” she said breathlessly as he was carelessly getting rid of his tie. “But I thought-”

“You thought _wrong_.”

He reached for a rope laying on a nearby table; a long piece, just enough to tie her up with her arms pressed to her sides.

“Squirm all you want. You’re not getting out.”

“Oh, no.” she said, her voice filled with delight. “Please, mister Penguin!”

He forced her up; her legs were trembling slightly.

“Here’s what’s going to happen, love.” he said quietly, running his fingers down her back. “I’ve had a long, awful day. I need to recharge. So, I’m going to ignore you for a while… All while you sit on this lovely thing.”

He tapped his fingertips lightly against the horse.

“But, before this happens…”

He fished some things out of his pockets - a gag and vibrating clamps.

“ _Those_ will keep you occupied.” he snickered, putting the clamps on. “And look - I have the remote. And this… This will keep you _quiet_.”

He gagged her, laughing quietly at how eagerly she opened her mouth; finally he lifted her up - and sat her down on the horse, listening to her gasp through the gag.

“Comfortable?” he asked innocently, bending her legs and cuffing her ankles up in the air. “Try not to squirm too much.”

She squirmed _a lot_ as he was laying on a couch, reading a newspaper and absentmindedly playing with the remote controlling the clamps. He could imagine the sort of pleasant discomfort she was feeling; the model she picked was just a bit rounded, to limit the pain. All it brought was pressure - and she could only squirm a bit, the resulting friction being more of a tease, rather than relief of any sort.

When he looked up from his paper after a while - her cheeks were flushed and she was squirming gleefully, her muffled moans sounding almost frustrated.

“Oh, you’re a _lovely_ sight.” he said, still staring. “Maybe I should keep you like this forever.”

Even through the gag he could hear her should _GET FUCKED._

He finished his newspaper. He checked his emails - all seventeen accounts. And twitter. And instagram.

Finally he put his phone down, looking at her critically; her eyes were closed and she was whimpering with frustration, trying to grind against the maddening edge.

“Alright, that’s enough.” he decided, getting up. “I think I’m _bored._ ”

She looked at him hopefully; but he shook his head.

“This doesn’t mean I’m _done_ making you suffer. Sorry, love, but I warned you - I’m not feeling merciful today.”

He got her off the horse - she sighed with relief; but it was very short-lived.

He sat her down on the couch, spreading her legs; he tied her ankles to furniture’s legs.

“M-mmphf?”

“You have to speak up, love.” he said lightly, picking up the small bullet vibe she was already familiar with. “I can’t understand a _word_!”

He slipped the vibe into her panties and sank back into his favorite chair, before picking up the remote and turning the vibe on. The effect was immediate - she started to trash around like crazy, frantically trying to get rid of the small bullet. He snickered to himself, testing every setting - finally he found one that made her arch her back convulsively. And once he knew she’s on the edge - he lowered the intensity, until it was barely humming.

He toyed with her like this for a long time; he kind of regretted the gag being in place, as he’d love to _actually_ hear her.

Eventually he decided it’s time for _him_ to get something out of this as well; he untied her legs and ungagged her. She closed her mouth with relief; ball gags tended to put quite a strain on one’s jaws.

“How are your mouth?”

“I’m not sure.” she said; she was slurring just a bit, probably due to her jaws being a bit stiff after hours of being forced apart. “How do I sound?”

“Like you’ve just parted ways with your dentist, to be honest.”

He helped her up, kissing her neck; she groaned quietly, squirming in her bonds.

“I’m… Fuck.” she muttered. “ _Touch me._ ”

He slid his hand into her undies; but he only took the bullet out and she sighed with frustration.

“What?” he asked her quietly; she was standing with her back against a wall and she leaned against it. “You know how it works, Charlie.”

He brushed her mound through the fabric of her undies and she writhed helplessly.

“Ask me to fuck you.”

He slid his fingertips - _just_ his fingertips - into her panties, not taking his eyes off her; she bit her lip.

“P-please.” she finally breathed out; he cocked his head.

“What was that?” he asked, lightly tapping her clit through fabric. “I didn’t quite hear it. Come again?”

“Please!” she repeated louder, more pleadingly; he smirked with satisfaction. “Fuck me. _Please_.”

“Hmm.” he muttered. “How about… A deal? I’ll fuck you, but _only_ if…”

He paused for a moment, tracing a line between her breasts with his index finger.

“Only if you manage to stand perfectly still for… Half an hour.” he finally said, and she groaned. “And if not… Too bad.”

“...are you implying you don’t _want_ to fuck me?”

“Oh, be quiet!” he scoffed, and she giggled. “Would it really _kill_ you to stay in character for once?”

She didn’t answer, too busy trying to not move as he slid his hand into her panties and his lips onto her neck; and she started to make truly magnificent sounds once he got rid of her undies and knelt down in front of her, making good use of his nimble tongue. She was very sweet; and the timer he set on his phone rang in the same moment she bucked her hips involuntarily.

“Oh, my.” he muttered, getting up; she was breathing heavily, her eyes closed. “My, my, my. What should I _do_ with you?”

“Come… Closer.” she breathed out. “So I can tell you.”

He leaned in; he could feel her breath on his neck.

“ _Fuck me._ ” she whispered. “Hard. Please… _Penguin._ ”

He looked at her; and she shot him a feverish, victorious smile.

He left some bruises on her that night; and in return she made him bleed. He bit, and she clawed; he pulled her hair, and she bit his lip. They left a lot of marks on each other that night - and he kissed her hungrily, desperately, determined to keeps his lips busy, so an unwarranted confession doesn’t spill out between moans and gasps.

(But the way she kissed his jawline and clawed at his shoulders and back almost weakened his resolve.)

***

The thing he enjoyed the most about their new arrangement was… Probably everything.

Her very presence was comforting, and he enjoyed the casual domesticity between acts; because they both needed a break from time to time. He enjoyed seeing her flutter her lashes at him while only wearing satin and lace, as much as he enjoyed seeing her yawn and stretch while wearing a bathrobe. He enjoyed the possibility of making her squirm and gasp whenever he pleased - as much as he liked coming home to her. She was surprisingly anti-social, and rarely left home; but so was he, all things considered. Being on top wasn’t half as enjoyable as he thought it’d be; and his old friends had changed.

No - _he_ had changed. He found out things about them, about their families - things that made it rather difficult for him to keep up the facade. The only people he trusted were the select few who both knew about Penguin, and had nothing to do with what happened to his family; a rather small group.

And he most definitely did _not_ feel like making new _friends_ purely as Oswald - those people were boring. They didn’t care about him as a person - good. They wouldn’t like him.

There were certain benefits coming from Charlie’s apparent lack of need to leave the house - such as him being able to text or call her at any time of day to demand something. From his office at Wayne Enterprises he had access to his private cctv; in theory, he could see what is she doing at any moment. In practice… He had a complicated relationship with the concept of invigilation, of invading one’s privacy. He definitely wasn’t above doing it; hell, he’d actually _love_ to have access to everyone’s secrets. Knowledge is power - and he liked power and control. But he also wasn’t above moral relativism; he was willing to let the selected few have their secrets.

(Naturally, he was number one on that list. If anyone takes away Kali’s cow, that is a wicked deed; but if Kali takes away the cow of somebody else - that is a _good_ deed.)

But sometimes he did peruse the cameras around the flat - when he was particularly bored.

“Maybe start a YouTube channel.” he said one day, observing Charlie constantly falling off the map in a parkour game; she brought her Xbox with her. “A niche corner, for people who want to watch others be _terrible_ at games.”

“Oh, ha ha ha, very funny.” she muttered. “So, how is it going on _your_ end?”

“Uneventful. I was hoping you’d change that.”

“Want me to be your camgirl?”

“Mmm. Yes. I _did_ steal you away as a plaything, hadn’t I?”

She giggled, and he smiled.

“You know I’m all for dirty talk, but what if someone _hears_ you? And gets a wrong idea?”

“My reputation will be in shambles.” he said nonchalantly. “Focus now. I’m going to make you get better at… What are you playing again?”

“Mirror’s Edge Catalyst.”

“Yes, that. Try to not die, because for every death before the timer goes off… There’ll be punishment.”

“Well, this is a _very_ surreal thing to hear. But you know what? I’m game.”

“You fell off the same ledge _twice_ during the last thirty seconds.”

They then played _red light, green light_ ; and he liked watching her put as she was being told to stop. He liked watching her in general; but he liked _hearing_ her even more. Big fish offices were built to be soundproof, so the risk of anyone overhearing something from the outside was non-existent; but he forgot to _lock_ his door.

“ _What_ are you doing?” Bruce asked him tiredly from the doorway; and Oswald paused mid sentence, staring at him.

(He was in the middle of telling Charlie to imagine his fingers creeping up her thighs; and Charlie was _so_ into it he was thankful for his wireless earphone. He’d _hate_ it if Bruce Wayne heard her like _that_.)

“Business.” Oswald replied, turning the video feed off; he could hear her laughing through the phone. “We’ll finish… _Later._ ”

“Promise?”

“Scout’s honor.” he stated, hanging up and directing his attention to Bruce. “To what, pray tell, do I owe the _pleasure_?”

Bruce had something for him to sign.

Having Bruce around his thumb - it was so _boring_. He liked abusing the power he held over Bruce; but it didn’t feel half as satisfying as he thought it would.

***

The access he had to the cameras around the flat came with another advantage, apart from the possibility of watching Charlie masturbate for him; it gave him the possibility of saving her from - potentially rather dire - consequences of her own lack of foresight.

Sometimes even he had busy days; and one day, during a meeting, he noticed several missed calls from her.

 

**I’m in a meeting. Bored?  
** _when are you coming home  
_ **In a few hours, why?  
** _im stuck on the horse_

 

“Fuck.” Oswald muttered to himself; chairwoman Zellerbach shot him a shocked look. “So sorry, ladies and gentlemen. There’s an emergency that a-bso-lu-te-ly _requires_ my undivided attention.”

“ _What_ emergency?” Regina asked him, squinting suspiciously; so he told her the truth.

“My partner needs my assistance.” he said smoothly, getting up; Zellerbach raised her eyebrows in surprise.

Before leaving the building, he had to drop by his office to get his keys - so he used the occasion to check on Charlie.

She wasn’t lying - she did end up stuck on the horse. He suspected the thought he’s having one of his lazy days, and will be home by noon; but this one time he had actual work to do - all while she was stuck on the wooden structure, with both her wrists _and_ ankles in cuffs. They could only be opened with a key; and that key was safely stored away in the drawer of his desk.

He called her from the car.

“May I ask _what the fuck_?” he asked, driving through the streets.

“I’m sorry!” she said tearfully; she sounded like she’s in pain. Understandable - she wasn’t quite used to the device yet, and god knows how much time did she spend like that. “I wanted to surprise you!”

“Well, you _did_.” he muttered. “Don’t panic, aight? I’m on my way.”

“It hurts!”

“I know it does, it’s a _torture_ device. It’s _supposed_ to hurt.” he sighed with resignation; she sounded like she’s trying not to cry. “But it’s going to pass. You’ll just have to sit down carefully for the next day or so.”

“A-are you mad at me?”

“We’re going to have this conversation once you’re _not_ on the verge of a breakdown.”

(He _was_ mad.)

Finally he got home; and Charlie was whimpering quietly on the wooden horse, her ankles cuffed to the sides and her wrists cuffed in front of her, forcing her to bend her back. Her phone was on a nearby table; and Oswald was _very_ grateful for how advanced LuthorTech’s voice command-based technology used in smartphones was.

“Alright.” Oswald muttered, uncuffing her wrists first. “Straighten your back.”

She gasped loudly doing so, the slight shift in weight distribution most likely causing her even more pain.

“Get me off, get me off!”

Finally he pulled her off and she sighed with relief; and then she instantly tripped and nearly fell down.

“My legs are asleep.”

“Come on. I’ll fix you up.”

She stumbled towards the couch and layed down; she raised her hips slightly and waited for Oswald to put a pillow underneath.

“God, my _legs_.” she muttered; her legs were twitching uncontrollably. “It feels like tv static.”

“It’ll pass. Take your panties off.”

“You do it.” she muttered, rubbing her eyes; he sighed and took them off.

“God, you’re _sore_.”

“It feels like I’ve ripped myself apart.” she sighed, not looking at him. “Is there blood?”

“It doesn’t look like anything’s damaged. Hang on, I’m going to touch you.”

Before she protested, he carefully massaged her with his fingertips; definitely sore. Slightly swollen. Almost painfully hot.

“Be careful!” she pleaded. “I think I just found my hard pain limit.”

“You’re not bleeding, so that’s good. You’re just sore.” he said, getting up. “Where did I put this thing…”

Finally he found what he was looking for; a soothing gel Holly threw in as a bonus. As opposed to lube, this one was supposed to be used after sex; it was said to be doing wonders in cases of soreness.

He handed the tube to Charlie, but she shook her head.

“You do it. Just… Be gentle.”

“I’m _always_ gentle when it comes to this part of you.”

“Yes, you are.” she muttered as he knelt down again; he spread her legs slightly and squeezed some of the gel out. “And it drives me _mad_ , but… It just feels so _good_.”

“Little by little does the trick.” he replied, gently rubbing the gel into her sore skin. “And I like it when people practically _beg_ me for what they want from me. Not for me to _stop_ \- but to _give_ them something.”

“And I like begging you.” she sighed; she squirmed slightly and pursed her lips briefly. “Because, in the end… I always get what I want.”

“Makes me wonder… _Why_ though? Why do you like to say _please_ so much?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve had control taken out of my hands.” he mused. “Along with everything I owned. I lost _everything_ , thanks to the whims of greedy men. So, logically… It _does_ make sense for me to enjoy being in control. To enjoy making people beg. So - how comes you’re on the other side?”

“I never had to _ask_ for anything.” she admitted. “And I guess… It simply feels nice. And I like being a pampered and teased pillow princess, whose only role it so go through _horrendous_ things you have in store for me.” she added, laughing quietly; suddenly she let out a quiet moan.

“Sorry, princess.” he said, getting up. “Not today.”

“That’s not the _only_ sensitive part of me though.” she muttered; she raised her head a bit, to look him in the eye. “Come on. Please?”

She looked at him pleadingly, and in the afternoon light her skin looked soft and smooth; and her pale pink nipples were barely visible, but he knew they’re soft like silk.

“Alright.” he said quietly; he wiped his hands off and slid onto the couch.

Charlie promptly positioned herself between his legs; she rested her head against his chest and exposed her neck as his fingers found their way to her breasts.

He liked playing with them, and he liked her reactions; she’d bite her lips in anxious anticipation as his fingertips made slow spirals, stopping just before touching her nipples. He’d do it a few more times; and Charlie would squirm as he focused on making slow circles just around her nipples, almost touching them - but not yet.

Finally he’d start to gently roll them between his fingertips - and at this point she’d be breathing heavily. Eventually, an occasional moan or two would escape her lips - and he’d give her nipples an occasional pinch, very light, just enough to make her feel a difference - but still not enough to be satisfying.

He could go on like this for a long time; and he did just that during that one afternoon, with her head against his chest. She gripped the fabric of his pants tightly, as her moans filled the room; and he toyed with her relentlessly, slowly building up her path to release. And after it came - after she arched her back, gasping loudly, gripping at his wrists - she put her head on his shoulder and admitted this was the first ever time she had an orgasm _like that_.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, _you know_.” she sighed. “From someone just… Touching my tits. I didn’t even know it’s _possible_.”

“That’s because you’re sensitive… And I know how to use it to my advantage.”

“Are you fishing for compliments _again_?”

She turned her head, so he was looking at her profile; she looked as amused, as he was bewildered by her question.

“You have a worship kink.” she finally stated, and he scoffed. “Except you don’t know it. You fucking _love_ it when I compliment you on _everything_ , from pancakes to fingering.”

“That’s horseshit!” he protested; she wasn’t _fully_ wrong - he did like hearing compliments from her. But who _doesn’t_ like to feel appreciated for their efforts? “Just because I like compliments doesn’t mean I have a _worship kink_!”

“Oh really? Remind me of it as soon as I can take some actual fucking. I won’t compliment you a _single time_ , just so you can compare how it feels for you.”

“My, my.” he said, pretending to be scandalized. “When did you get so _vulgar_?”

“Don’t act so scandalized, I know you like it when I spew profanities.”

She was right - he did, he absolutely did.

***

Once her bottom got better from her horse riding misadventure - she decided she feels like experimenting with rope a lot rougher than the kind he usually used on her. She wanted him to _only_ use rope on her this time; and she wanted it to be rough, so she’d constantly be torn between pleasure and pain.

And initially - everything was going good. Great, even; he tied her up in such a way that every time she moved - the knots between her legs would shift slightly, teasing her. Her legs were bent and spread, her hands were behind her back; and her sensitive nipples were caught between two pieces of rope going across her chest and back. He insisted on her leaving her panties on - partially for the sake of adding to her frustration, and partially because he didn’t want her to get even _sorer_.

Watching her was _very_ entertaining - it always was, with the way she writhed and moaned and looked at him and panted. She seemed to be enjoying herself; and he promised her that if she does manage to come just like that, just from struggling in her bonds, just from thrusting her hips, just from the knots rubbing against her - he’ll let her. There will be no _stop_ , no _beg for it_.

And she seemed to be getting there, with her eyes shut tight; she was biting her lip and it seemed like she finally found her rhythm, her pace; but then Oswald noticed something that most definitely shouldn’t be there.

Pieces of rope her nipples were pinched with were stained with blood; she was _bleeding -_ it probably hurt like hell, considering how sensitive her nipples were.

And yet - she said nothing.

“Alright, this is enough.” he said, reaching for a nearby knife.

“W-what?!” she said feverishly, opening her eyes instantly. “No!”

He knelt down to her to cut the ropes; she tried to wiggle away, but he simply pulled her closer, sliding the blade across her chest.

“Come on!” she said tearfully, as he cut the ropes. “I’m so _close_!”

“Yeah, you’re also _bleeding_.”

She winced and flinched as the ropes slid off her nipples; they… Didn’t look good.

And once he cut the ropes in one place - the entire elaborate webbing started to fall apart. Charlie looked at him with dismay.

“You could’ve at least let me _finish_.”

“No, I could not. Bodily harm is where you draw the line.” he said, crossing his arms. “It’s in the contract. The one you _signed_.”

“But-”

“I’m willing to get sued for many indecent things, love. This, however? Is _not_ on the list.”

He went to the bathroom, where he kept his - rather well equipped, especially since Charlie moved in - medicine cabinet; and Charlie followed.

“Sit down.”

She sat down at nearby stool; even as he turned around to open the cabinet he could hear her shuffling quietly.

“If you insist on humping my furniture…” he muttered, picking up a few things, “At least try to be discreet about it.”

“But I thought you _like_ watching me.” she fired back as he turned around to face her.

“That’s because I do. Straighten your back, we’re going to try out this… Spray for feeding mothers.”

“Ouch!” she breathed out as he sprayed her - so, so sore - nippled; he then covered them with band-aids.

(The Hello Kitty kind, since she - very firmly - _demanded_ he buys those. She threatened to cut all ties with him if he doesn’t comply; and he did. Of course he did.)

“So, what now?” she asked as he was washing his hands; he glanced at her reflection in the mirror above the sink.

“Well. The deal was… You can come uninterrupted, _if_ you manage to do so. And… You didn’t.”

“Because you _stopped_ me!” she said with absolute bewilderment. “You _cheater._ ”

“The odds were _never_ in your favor. Come now. I think you need… A lesson in accepting your fate without complaining.”

“You _hypocrite._ ”

He laughed and kissed her; and she kissed him back, reaching for the buttons of his shirt - but he stopped her.

“Keep your hands to yourself, love.”

She ended up on the bed, face down, with her legs bend and tied and her hands tied in front of her; there was a vibe between her legs, but she couldn’t focus on it, not with sharp stings of a riding crop hitting her bottom, leaving red marks on her skin.

When he was untying her a while later - her eyes were red and puffy.

“Did I miss your morse code for _stop_?” he asked with concern; she looked at him with confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“You… Cried.”

“I did? Oh.” she muttered, touching her cheeks. “Don’t worry about it. I didn’t even notice.”

“Are you _sure_?” he pressed; she sighed and rolled her eyes.

“Yes, I’m sure. I want to take a bath now.”

They didn’t talk much during the aftercare session; it also became part of the routine. If she had any objections, she’d tell him right away; and then they both would be mostly silent during her bath. Usually it was the comfortable kind of silence, at least for him; but sometimes he wanted to _talk_.

She sighed and slid deeper into the tub as he was washing her hair; her mouth were just above the water surface, dangerously close to foam.

“Don’t drink it.”

“I wasn’t going to.” she muttered. “Can I ask you something?”

“Always.”

“Why were you so pressed about me crying?”

“Same reason I was so pressed about your nipples.” he said; oh, that was a blatant, bitter lie. “There are some indecent things I’m willing to get sued for - and there’s breaching a dom-sub contract.”

( _Also I love you and you’re not a person I want to make cry, you were never one of those._ )

“Mmm.” she muttered. “Fair enough. I want hot chocolate.”

“One day you’re going to cry for the moon, I swear.”

“And you’re going to give me the moon, since there’s no safe word to protect you from my aftercare demands.”

 _Yes,_ he thought. _I’d give you the moon and sun and stars and the head of Alexander Krill on a silver platter, if only it meant a slight chance of getting my heart back from you._

***

He confessed to her - on accident.

She took control from him one day; she asked for it, and he agreed, he agreed to let her be the dominant one for a day. He didn’t actually have anything against the concept of switching sides; he always thought that when someone favors one side of anything - they should at least give the other one a try, just to see how it _feels_ , just to have a more complete picture.

He had nothing against switching sides - but on principle he was more or less averse to being the submissive one, to being the one with his freedom taken away from him, to be the one begging. It just felt too _real_ ; but with her… He didn’t feel this hesitation.

There were moments before, when she’d suddenly take control; when she’d push him down and slide onto him, or when she’d push his head between her legs and hold it there, until her hands were trembling. He didn’t like having control taken away from him; but with her…

With her it didn’t feel like he suddenly was the bad kind of vulnerable - so he agreed.

It happened after a fundraiser hosted by Bruce they attended together; the invitation was addressed to _mister Cobblepot and guest_ ; and she talked him into going, into being social. He introduced her to people as his _partner_ , and acted courteous, and none of them as much as mentioned the true nature of their _partnership -_ and she looked absolutely bloody gorgeous, and when he was handing her a glass of champagne she brushed the back of his hand with her fingertips, and smiled at him; and there was a promise in this smile, and he smiled back, again feeling like a lovestruck schoolboy.

“That was fun.” she said as they were walking towards his car, inhaling chilly autumn air. “And… You were _really_ nice. People must think we’re in love.”

“Yeah.” he muttered, feeling a lump in his throat. “Bruce and Zellerbach are probably under this impression since I ran out of a meeting when you locked yourself up on a horse. And… I might have used you as a _get out of jail_ card a few more times.” he added. “ _So sorry, Regina, but I really have to go! My darling bird caught a nasty infection and is coughing her lungs out._ ”

“Did you really call me _darling bird_?”

“Yes I did.” he said, helping her get into the car. “What, do you mind?”

“I don’t, actually.” she said as he was starting the engine. “It has a nice ring to it. You said it yourself - I’d make one hell of a songbird.”

“Yes, you would.” he said softly. “So, about tonight…”

“Yes?”

“What are you going to do to me?”

“Make you sing, probably.” she said with a shrug. “Not literally though. Penguins… Don’t make good songbirds. Let’s say…” she mused, sinking deeper into her seat. “Penguin’s plaything grew tired of his fuckery. She catches him off guard and informs him - the roles had changed. He’s no longer in control. She’s his mistress now - and he better refers to her as such.”

“My mistress.” he repeated; it had a nice ring to it; it made him feel a pleasant, warm tingling deep inside. “Alright. And… What next?”

“We’ll see.” she said, glancing at him. “Who knows, maybe Penguin will realize something about himself, or his caged bird.”

“Or maybe he won’t. Penguins are known to be _very_ stubborn.”

“That’s the first time I’m hearing about this.”

“Well. _This_ penguin… Is _remarkably_ stubborn. And crafty. He might get out of his bonds… And corner his so-called _mistress._ ”

“Don’t plan that far ahead. Who knows…” she said with a puzzling smile. “Maybe he won’t _want_ to get out.”

She was mostly right - he didn’t want to get out. He felt _excited_ as she was binding his hands; he wondered when did she get so handy with ropes.

And she looked _gorgeous_ too; clearly a jab at his sweatpants, that still drove her crazy. With her hair and makeup absolutely impeccable, wearing her favorite black lace lingerie with dark crimson garter belt and fishnet stockings - she looked beautiful.

And the devilish spark in her eyes and a playful smirk hidden in the corners of her blood red lips suited her; he liked this new Charlie, he liked her a whole lot; even as she put a collar on his neck and tugged at a leash, forcing him to look up.

“The roles had changed, mister Penguin.” she said quietly; she caressed his face with her fingertips and this mockingly tender gesture almost made him crack. “I want you to be _mine_.”

“Make me then.”

“Oh, I will.” she promised him; her tone and expression sent an excited shiver down his spine. “By the time the dawn breaks again, I’ll have you wrapped around my finger… And you’ll forget there used to be a time you addressed me as anything other than _my mistress_.”

She wasn’t joking; during the following hours she broke him, she broke him slowly, tenderly, almost masterfully. Maybe it’s because it’s been a long while since he last was the submissive one, or maybe it was simply because it was _her_ , and his body always followed his heart; and his heart was aching for her, and so was his body. His skin was yearning for her touch, for her kisses, for her breath; and she turned out to be relentless.

She had a very effective weapon at her disposal - herself. That thing he wanted so badly - but couldn’t have. The fact he usually was able to get whatever he wanted from her made the whole night a lot more intense; suddenly he was denied something he grew so used to. Suddenly his demands meant nothing; suddenly the best he could get - were teasing touches, all while she was fully enjoying herself.

“Don’t look away.” she whispered, taking off her bra; and he sighed quietly.

And he didn’t look away; he didn’t look away even as she pulled her panties aside and reached for a dildo she picked on a whim at the Tin Roof.

He ached for her touch, and he ached for her skin; and all he could do was to look at her as she was fucking herself on the couch, her gasps and moans filling the air, ringing in his ears, and his skin was burning, aching, yearning.

“Wouldn’t you love to _touch_ me?” she asked him quietly, lounging on the sofa. “I bet you would. I bet you’d _love_ to maybe get your lips on my neck, and your hands on my hips, so I couldn’t move…”

Her fingers began a slow walk down her chest, as she looked at him with a lazy smile.

“I can only _imagine_ all those things you’d love to do with me. I bet you’d make me scream. It’s such a shame _you_ can only imagine those things as well.”

“Once I get out of those-” he started; but she interrupted him with a giggle.

“Who said anything about _getting out_?” she asked, looking at him with amusement. “You’re chatty. I think I have a better use for those mouth of yours.”

She tugged at the leash, and he started to get up; but she stopped him with some very disappointed _tsk, tsk, tsk._

“On your _knees_ , mister Penguin.” she said quietly. “You look gorgeous on your knees, by the way.”

“I look gorgeous every way.”

“That’s true.” she said; and his heart skipped a beat. “You’re easy on the eyes.”

She spread her legs and pulled her panties aside again.

“I _know_ you want to touch me.” she said; she put her free hand on his head and pushed. “Go on then.”

And he did; and she was as sweet and eager and sensitive as always. But he got carried away; and he started to tease her and she did not appreciate it, not at all.

(She did, she absolutely did; he saw it in the corners of her lips as she yanked his hair, pulling his head away.)

“And what do you think you’re _doing_?”

“What you wanted me to do.” he replied, looking her in the eye; she laughed.

“Oh, Oswald.” she said affectionately. “Oz. You beautiful idiot.”

She pushed his head back between her thighs, but this time she gave him a warning; she had a timer on hand, and was going to count the time it takes him to make her come. She was about to tell him what she considers a _bad_ result - when his lips and his tongue made contact with her skin, and she gave in.

He took his sweet time with her; of course he did. He was genuinely curious what else might she has in store for him; so he teased and kept her on the edge for a while, all while she gasped and bucked her hips, as if nothing had changed, as if he was still in control.

“Forty minutes, Oswald. _Forty minutes_.”

“And I could keep going for much longer.” he replied nonchalantly. “So… What now?”

“Stop trying to undermine my dominant position, you cocky bastard.”

“I’m not undermining _anything._ ” he said, bowing his head theatrically. “You have me bound. I’m at your command… _Charlie_.”

“That’s not how you were supposed to call me.” she said quietly, slowly getting up. “Oh, Penguin. When will you learn?”

She walked away for a moment; and Oswald could hear her set something down on a table behind him.

She returned holding a gag and a blindfold; and Oswald felt a sting of anxiety. Just a faint one; just a thin needle puncturing his skin.

“Call me _mistress._ ” she demanded, crossing her arms.

“You will _never_ be any _mistress_ of mine.” he replied, looking up at her; she laughed quietly and bent over, putting her face next to his.

“Wrong answer.” she whispered, placing a light kiss in the corner of his mouth.

She gagged and blindfolded him; she pulled his pants down, and sat him down on the couch - and very soon Oswald started to deeply regret ever introducing her to the wondrous effect a simple feather can have on human skin.

“Oh, what’s the matter?” she whispered to him, as he was squirming. “Don’t like the taste of your own medicine?”

He could feel her fingertips and her lips, and her tongue - but all he could get were the lightest of touches.

Just enough to get him near the edge; not nearly enough to push him over. Just those gentle flicks, those teasing touches; he got a taste of his own medicine - and it was an oddly addictive taste once he got used to it, once the initial anxiety had passed.

But eventually his thoughts had turned into a fuzz - and all he could do was to fruitlessly try and plead with her through the gag. He was nowhere near trying to use the _gag-in_ version of their safeword; but he was ready to call her _mistress_.

(He wouldn’t mind being on his knees for her more often.)

She sat on his lap, and he groaned quietly; she took his blindfold off and he blinked a few time before squinting slightly.

“Well?” she asked, tracing a slow line down his jaw, down his neck with her index finger. “Are you ready to accept your new place… Penguin?”

He nodded vigorously, staring at her with his best puppy eyes; she laughed and got up, tugging at the leash; he got up for a brief moment, before instantly getting down to his knees.

“It’s incredible how little it took.” she said quietly, looking down at him; and there was something odd in her eyes, something tender, something soft. It reminded him of those quiet moments of casual domesticity as he washed her hair for her, or brought her tea; it made him feel almost at peace.

She bent down and ungagged him; she brushed the back of his neck with her fingertips and he swallowed hard, seeing how hard her nipples are.

(It made him feel like someone who hadn’t built his career on blackmail and lies.)

“Say it, Oswald. Three words.”

He meant to say _please, my mistress -_ he really, genuinely did; but something went wrong. His brain was filled with pleasurable fog and she looked at him in this peculiar, gentle way, and she looked so beautiful in the bright light of his living room, and he thought about waking up next to her the next day, and about how her presence felt next to him during the fundraiser-

“I love you.” he breathed out, kneeling down in front of her with his hands tied behind his back; and she stared at him in shock and it took him a while to process what did he just say.

“What?” she finally asked; and he squirmed nervously. Suddenly he didn’t like being tied up. Suddenly he missed being in control. That one time he lost absolute, perfect control over his tongue-

“Are you fucking with me, Oz?” she asked him, her voice breaking; and he stared at her without a word. “This- I-”

“I’m not messing with you.” he finally said. “Alright? I’m _very_ serious. It’s not what I _meant_ to say, but it’s definitely a, ah, how do you call it… A freudian slip.”

“Fucking hell.” she said, her teary eyes in contrast with a smile blossoming on her lips. “Do you have to _always_ be so bloody eloquent?”

“It’s all a part of my charm. So.” he added, squirming slightly. “Back to my impromptu confession. We can-”

But he never finished that one; hell, actually - he wasn’t sure where is he going with it.

He never finished - because she took his face in her hands, same exact way he’d take hers so many times, and looked him in the eye.

“I… I love you too.” she said quietly; and her eyes looked like an ocean.

 


	5. Chapter 5

“Did we mean it?” he asked her later, after they had finished; they were in his bed, and his head was laying on her thigh and he raised it to look at her. “I mean, I know _I_ did. I _always_ mean every single thing I say.”

“I wanted to tell you the same thing… Many times.” she admitted, stroking his chin gently.

“God, _really_? I’ve been pining after you since… When did we first meet again?”

“I don’t know.” she said with a shrug. “But for _me_ it started… Remember our first day-long thing? I cried in the shower, because I thought it’s one sided.”

“Ah yes, the vibrating knot. You made a lot of beautiful sounds that day, you know.”

“I _always_ make beautiful sounds.”

“Even when you’re snoring?”

“I snore like a kitten, or so I’ve heard.”

“Yes, you do.” he agreed, laying his head back down and closing his eyes. “Tell me about the times when you wanted to tell me you love me.”

“Alright.” she said cautiously, running her fingers through his hair. “Will you tell me about… _Why_ is Penguin doing the things he does? The blackmail, the murder.”

“I will.” he agreed lazily. “My truth for your truth.”

“Alright.”

***

The first time she wanted to tell him her heart yearns for him happened shortly after his panic attack at the Tin Roof.

That was the first time she saw him like that - so vulnerable, so human. Whatever caused this fear, this despair - it was hidden inside him, so deep she never even knew it exists. But it did; there was something else to his motivation behind his crimes, something other than anger, resentment, jealousy, pride.

The was pain, and fear, and sadness; and she knew those feelings well, the memory of her own pain still fresh, still raw.

After he refused her - awkward, tense - offer of coming over to make sure he’s alright she wanted to run after him, put a hand on his shoulder and tell him she _cares_ about him.

***

“But you didn’t. Why?”

“I just assumed you want to be alone. Did you?”

“I guess I did.” he muttered, lightly rubbing his chin against her thigh. “Also I thought you’re just being polite - and I _hate_ when people offer me something just to be polite.”

“But you like forcing people to offer you things. It’s still fake. They still don’t mean it.”

“They don’t, but I get what I want. I don’t like fake politeness. Got tired of it very quickly.”

“You’re an odd one, did you know that?”

“I’m odd and egoistic and prideful and quick to anger.” he muttered, not opening his eyes. “But also absolutely _charming_ , so it all evens out.”

She laughed; he was partially right. He was kind of awful, actually - but she didn’t mind.

“Well, it wasn’t fake politeness anyway. I really meant it. I’d… Take care of you.”

“Watch it, love, I might intentionally catch a cold, just to make you take care of me.”

“It’s a deal. Should I keep going?”

“Yes.”

***

The next time she nearly slipped happened when she locked herself on the damn horse. She was _sure_ he’s going to get home in an hour; turned out she miscalculated.

She liked it when he was taking care of her, plain and simple; and that time was not an exception, even though she was sore and hurting; it felt way worse than that one time she grossly miscalculated her own stamina and strength when they were trying forced orgasms out. She was sure she can take just a few more - and as a result she passed out for half an hour. She was oversensitive for the next few days - but it was nothing compared to the soreness caused by the wooden horse.

She was close to telling him _I love you_ after he - on her demand - made her come just by playing with her breasts and by teasing her neck with his lips. It was a very soft orgasm; it felt pink. And afterwards - when her thoughts were still just a bit fuzzy and he was giving her a backrub, to ease the discomfort caused by spending hours in a slouched position - he asked her if she’s feeling better, and she nearly blurted out _I love you_.

***

“You know what’s remarkable? The fact you apparently got turned on by me rubbing a medicine into your pussy.”

“That’s the first time I’ve ever heard you say that.”

“I don’t like that word. It sounds so… Silly. Your petals. Ooh, this sounds better.”

“It sounds _pretentious_.”

“Let’s add it to my long list of flaws. Also, _petals_ is the right word. Petals are soft and delicate. And so… Are you. And sensitive! So sensitive all it took to get you moaning was a light massage.”

“It was _one_ moan!”

“But it happened! Do go on though.”

***

The next time happened as they were experimenting with rough ropes.

The horse incident did give her a - rather silly - idea; he seemed to get very concerned when she was hurt, and she liked the sensation of having him take care of her. It made her feel at peace and safe, and he looked at her with tender concern-

***

“I already _love_ where this one is going.”

“Stop interrupting me!”

“Never. Go on.”

***

-he looked at her with tender concern that filled her heart with fluttering warmth.

So - she hurt herself on purpose. She gritted her teeth and ignored the pain, and instead focused on the pleasant tension between her legs; she ignored the more and more stinging pain - until she started bleeding and he noticed.

She didn’t actually _mind_ him interrupting her; in fact - she was glad. Frustrated, and on the brink - but _glad_.

He seemed almost disappointed when she asked him to gag her again.

“Why? I _love_ listening to what you have to say when you’re tied up and at my mercy.”

“I like the additional sense of helplessness.” she replied with a shrug; that was only partially true.

She really did enjoy being gagged - but she also felt like if it wasn’t for the gag being in place, she’d probably blurt out a confession in the heat of the moment.

***

“And is that why you cried back then?”

“I guess. I might have confessed a few times back then - all into a gag. Clever, isn’t it? Come on. Tell me I’m clever.”

“Yes, you’re the most brilliant woman in all of Gotham. The city would fall if you turned to the life of crime and debauchery.”

“Now you’re just making fun of me.”

“You figured out a gag will muffle any sudden love confessions. Not exactly a sign of genius.”

“I’m going to choke you.”

“Is that a threat? Or… A promise? No, no, don’t tell me. Surprise me.”

“Prick.”

“Keep talking.”

***

The next time she nearly cracked was the very same night - during the fundraiser.

Oswald didn’t want to go; and he repeatedly told her she doesn’t have to come if she doesn’t want to. Eventually she jokingly stated it sounds like _he_ doesn’t want her to come - to which he sighed and asked why is she so insistent on going?

“Because you got an invitation.” she replied, crossing her arms. “For you and… A _guest_. Does Bruce know about me?”

“He doesn’t know your name, but… He’s well aware of someone being in my life. I never gave anyone any details though.” he added hastily, before she said anything. “Do you really want to deceive the public? Make them think we’re in love?”

***

“In hindsight, that was not a smart thing to say.”

“I can’t believe you never figured out my massive crush on you.”

“I just assumed you want to keep it as casual as possible! I asked you about your new friend from your new building, and you suddenly decided to end the topic. So I thought - _oh, she doesn’t want me to know anything about her outside of our arrangement. That’s fine. Feels a lot like being stabbed with a rusty knife, but still. Fine._

“I had sore throat that day!”

“Well I didn’t _know_ that! I thought it’s your subtle way of telling me to not pry and to mind my own business. So… I did.”

“And I’ve spent _weeks_ wondering why aren’t you trying to get to know me on a more personal level.”

“Oh Jesus.”

“Yeah.”

***

“I don’t understand you, you know?” she sighed, trying to hide just how badly his words hurt her. “You’ve put _all_ your resources into coming to Gotham, into getting whatever blackmail material you have on Bruce, into getting into Wayne Enterprises, killing Falcone, pushing Hill to suicide - and now you’re just… Going to sit in your ivory tower? That’s it?”

“ _Why_ do you want me to go there?”

“Because you need to at least _try_ to pretend you’re living a normal life. The best way of keeping people from digging… Is to stay in the spotlight.”

“Fine!” he finally sighed. “I’ll come. But it means - _you_ have to come too. And we’ll have to act like a couple. Or… I can stage a breakup. With a girlfriend I never had.”

“No, no, I have nothing against acting lovey-dovey.” she assured him quickly, torn between naive happiness and bitter awareness of the situation. “I’ll be a perfect… Non-girlfriend.”

“Partner.”

“Yes. Partner. Oh, and speaking of partnership... “

“Uh-uh.” he muttered, automatically reaching for the notepad he used to make grocery shopping lists. “What is it this time? Belgian chocolate? Fresh macarons?”

“It’s not about shopping. I… I want to try being the dominant one.” she finally blurted out. “I want to dominate you.”

“...aight.” he said, slowly putting the pad down.

***

“You know, I still wonder… Why did you agree?”

“I have a flair for the dramatics. Dropping down to my knees for you… Felt fitting.”

“But I thought you _hate_ losing control.”

“I do, but with you… I knew I’d still _be_ in control. Same way _you_ are in control - there’s teasing and torment, but it stops the moment you say the word. I knew you’d stop. You had a good teacher.”

“I’m not going to compliment your teaching skills. Not gonna happen.”

“Well, it was worth a try.”

***

“This is surprising, you know.”

“I know.” she said, anxiously playing with her blouse. “But… I want to try it. For a night.”

“Alright.” he said with a shrug. “My safe word’s _black_. Just tell me when. Though… I’d want to know _why_ do you suddenly want to try.”

“I boss you around all the time.” she said with a smile. “Might as well do it full time.”

They decided to give her reign a shot after the fundraiser - she was nervous. He seemed to be cautiously giddy.

The evening was nice; Bruce Wayne seemed to be surprised at the fact Oswald’s partner is actually real, and not a lie.

“We’ve met.” he realized as Oswald was introducing her. “At the auction. The one…”

“Raided by Penguin, yeah.”

She met Oswald’s other childhood friend - Skyler Hill. The two didn’t seem to be on speaking terms anymore, as they only exchanged nods and proceeded to ignore each other for the rest of the evening; Skyler didn’t seem to be happy about it.

“We used to be really close, me and Oz.” she sighed. “To be honest, I’m not sure _why_ is he so pissed at me. But he sure as hell is stubborn.”

“He’s stubborn like a mule.” Charlie agreed. “But I-”

“But you stick around anyway.” he interrupted her from behind, just as she was about to say _I love him anyway_. “And that’s why _you’re_ my partner. You like it when I’m stubborn.”

He handed her a glass of champagne and she smiled at him lightly; he seemed tense, and tired.

“Yes.” she agreed. “I do.”

***

“By the way… _What_ happened between you and Skyler?”

“Between me and her? Absolutely nothing. Her father’s the one I have a problem with. See, Hamilton Hill abused his power to assist Falcone and Wayne with their bullshit. But that’s not all. See, love… Hill’s one of the men responsible for what happened to my mum. Kinda ruins the way I see his daughter, doesn’t it?”

“Hm. Yeah. I guess it does.”

“So I guess now’s the time for _my_ truth.” he muttered, opening his eyes slowly. “Or… Does my mistress have any other demands? A backrub perhaps?”

“Are you going to keep calling me that?”

“Mistress Charlie.” he purred, and she laughed. “Who holds dominion over my heart. I love you, Charlie. I’m glad Fish hooked us up.”

“Yeah.” she said softly, caressing his face with her fingertips. “If we go to sleep now… What will we be once we wake up?”

“Same thing we’re now, probably. Does it mean my truth can wait ‘till morning?”

“But you _will_ tell me, right?”

“Penguin’s word.”

“I love you.”

“The feeling’s mutual.” he muttered, closing his eyes again. “So, so mutual.”

And life went on.

 


End file.
